


Hometown

by Minglan



Series: FE3H Figure Skating [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dagdan!Felix, Friendship, M/M, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Sports injuries, alternate universe - figure skating, emotional journey, it's not a big thing but he just is, other characters appear: Claude; Ashe; Marianne; Rodrigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28981725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minglan/pseuds/Minglan
Summary: The moment Felix steps onto the ice, he knows he has already won. The cheers drown the announcement of his name, drown the hammering of his heartbeat, but it does not drown Dimitri, standing in the audience, waving his hand, shouting his name.Felix's heart calms, taking in one last glance before he dips down into his starting pose, waiting for the first chord of the music to strike.---A Dimilix Figure Skating AU
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: FE3H Figure Skating [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125896
Comments: 18
Kudos: 26
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written as part of the FE3H AU Bang. Thanks to the mods for organizing this huge project! Folks, do check out the stories which were written for this :D
> 
> The first draft of this chapter was betad by Cy ([@possiblevoid](https://twitter.com/possiblevoid)) and partly by Jude ([@cornflaeck](https://twitter.com/cornflaeck)). Thank you so much <3 It was super helpful.  
> The final draft was betad by Lauren ([@mahiruhiiragis](https://twitter.com/mahiruhiiragis)). Thank you for betaing!! I know you have a lot on your plate. Thanks! <3
> 
> And last but not least, there's going to be amazing (!!!) art by Lián ([@CoffeeLian](https://twitter.com/CoffeeLian)) in later chapters. Seriously, they're gorgeous!

Felix’s heart soars when the audience showers his first jump with applause, a smile tugging at his lips. Gliding on the ice, picking up speed for his next element, he can almost taste it. The gold. _The victory_.

He has come second after the short program, but the point difference is marginal. Claude is only one point ahead of him. He needs a season's best, sure, but he has reached more before and he always peaks at the World Championships, the Worlds, the final competition of the season.

If not now, then when? This is not just about taking the gold. This is about setting himself up as the favorite for the Olympics.

Gliding. Leaping. Spinning.

He has done it a thousand times, again and again, through grueling practice sessions and under intense pressure during competitions. When his muscles scream, he smiles, falls in character with the music, enthralls the crowd with the composition of his movements.

The air is electric, the anticipation of the audience awaiting his next jump. The outside three-turn comes easy, ingrained through countless repetitions. The next moment he is up in the air, his arms above him and when his blade hits the ice, the applause rises, erupts with the swing of his leg into a split as he rasps for air. Thrill courses through his veins, exhilaration driving him.

His breathing is heavy when he jumps into his next spin. His hand reaches for his free foot, rising to his height, body the perfect form of a teardrop. The blade cuts into his palm with his grasp so tight on the top of the podium.

It will be sweet to stand there.

But some things… some things are not meant to be.

His foot strikes against the ice, vaults him high into the air. High. Higher-

The world turns upside down. He gasps after the air escaping his lungs, whines at the throb in his ankle. He pushes against the board, pushes himself, flops down, pushes up again. Up and up and onto his feet. He has to go on, has to win. But can he still?

He leaves the ice, a rain of flowers and gifts behind him. Sagging onto the bench, he waits for his scores, barely feeling his old man’s hand on his shoulder when he stares at the screen.

Nothing explains what has happened. How his routine fell apart at its seams, how the crowd carried him through the rest of his program when his breath was heavy and ragged, when his mind was screaming to stop. Claude darts him a smile void of any mischief, only apprehension. His legs still shake as his fingers dig into his knees. His chest still aches from the crashes.

The score slowly fades out of the screen. The moderator announces the next one to skate.

Claude von Riegan.

He will come in first place.

And position himself as the favorite for Olympic gold.

Instead of sitting down with the top three he passes them by. It’s the first in a long time he does so. He faintly sees Dedue, the frown on his forehead, glances past Dimitri who should have never been there. He barely registers his old man’s voice calling after him. Dimitri runs after him, but Felix pulls away, rushes past reporters shoving microphones into his face when he wants to leave, just wants to disappear. He snaps at a pesky one, winces when the reporter jerks away as if burnt.

It’s not the time to be a sore loser. Not the time to be weak. Don’t feed the media. The media who latches onto conflict; at sensations which aren’t there. They’ve ruined many but won’t ruin him. One bad skate won’t blow him out of the waters. He’s still in the game.

“I’ll be back.” The cameras of the reporters glare at him. Calm down. What will calm _them_ down? This was just one misstep. He’s always succeeded so far. “This was not my standard. There is no excuse.”

He swallows and braces himself against the wall as a rain of questions suffocates him. They want to know why. Why out of all people Felix fails a year before the Olympics. Does he feel ready? Is it the pressure? Is it an injury? Who will represent Faerghus in men’s single skating at the Olympics?

He flinches. One more question added to his mind which still cuts through the mess, the tangle of thoughts. It’s supposed to be him. To be Ashe and Felix who represent Faerghus and if it had to be then also Dimitri, but first of all Ashe and Felix.

His eyes dart to a monitor. Claude is already awaiting his score, a cocky grin broad on his lips as he waves a plush.

A personal best. A new world record. The crowd stands up to cheer while everything falls silent around him.

Felix quickly raises a hand to his face, coughs, covers the quiver of his lips. Claude broke the standing world record by 3.5 points. He succeeded where Felix faltered. He’ll never make room for Felix to stand at the top.

The placements fade in.

Claude in 1st.  
Dedue in 2nd.  
Dimitri in 3rd.

Ashe places 11th.

Felix places 18th overall.

A simple summation and he knows: Faerghus has lost one spot. Only two athletes will represent Faerghus for men’s single skating at the Olympics.  
  


***  
  


“You can’t be reckless.” Felix walks next to Ashe. It’s two weeks until Worlds and his old man decided Ashe cannot perform his quadruple jumps – the four revolutions in the air which earn the most points. Not with the injury he sustained during practice. The doctor advised against him performing at all, but Ashe insisted on participating. Not because he doesn’t understand the danger but because he needs the exposure, these rare moments under the scrutiny of the judges to establish himself, to make himself known.

He isn’t reckless, Felix knows. He is determined to make his way to the Olympics just like himself. Determined in the certainty of his steps, in the way he balls his hands into fists and in the steely glance in his eyes which erases his usual softness.

“I will compete,” Ashe told Rodrigue and earned a shake of said man’s head. A heavy sigh and they started to work out the compromise. It was after practice. They stood in the hallway of their rink; their rinkmates walked past them, rushing to the comfort of their homes.

“No quads.” His old man crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Two.”

“None or you stay at home.”

“One!” Ashe pleas, “Just-”

“Young man, this is not negotiable. I will cancel your flight ticket.”

Ashe’s jaw clenched in a jerky motion, not quite grinding his teeth yet, but it was a near thing. Without quads he might as well stay home. The way figure skating progressed, a quad toe and quad salchow are the minimum to survive in men’s.

Felix stepped between Ashe and Rodrigue. “He’ll need his quads.”

“He needs to rest.” His old man refused to look him into the eye. “Focus on quality; impress them with your artistry. Then come back with your quads and deliver a whole package next season.” He turned around, grabbed the handle of the door and stepped outside.

They all know it isn’t as easy. Scores are supposed to grade the performance right in front of the judges’ eyes, but nothing exists in isolation; nothing is evaluated without context. If Ashe drops in his world ranking, if his starting position is in an earlier group, judges will be more tentative with their scores, less generous and more critical. His old man knows but sacrifices Ashe's standing the year before the Olympics anyway… because health comes first. Health comes first, alright.

They walk through downtown on their way to buy toiletries for Worlds. Ashe still hasn’t answered so Felix glances at the windows of the shops they pass. There’s a new one, selling Dagdan snacks and milk tea. A kid walks out with a steamed bun in his hand. When he bites into it, ribbons of steam rise up. He’ll have to try the shop out and check whether it tastes the way his grandpa does them. A smile tugs at Felix’s lips before he turns back to Ashe.

“I know.” Ashe knits his brows. It isn’t easy to take this risk, to give up on strong elements when he clearly can do them but not with his injury. “I’m not reckless…” He screws his eyes shut and sighs. “I’m taking care of the injury and it is healing well. I just-” He presses his lips together. “I do trust you and Dimitri…”

Felix huffs. Dimitri isn’t worth the trust. “Don’t worry about the spots. We’ll have two no matter what. You’ll go to the Olympics.”

Ashe frowns. “We’re three.”

“No." Ashe is wrong. "It’s only you and me.”  
  


***  
  


Two spots are enough for Faerghus. The country used to be a powerhouse when it comes to figure skating, however, in recent years, it’s been difficult to raise talent and competition is not sleeping. With Claude representing Almyra and Dedue representing Duscur, it is clear that the traditional three Fodlanian countries are not the center of the figure skating world anymore. Countries rise, and countries fall. It is a cycle, the stages of evolution. No country can stay at the top forever, and Faerghus, too, has to yield. Therefore, two spots are enough. Two spots, one for Ashe, one for Felix.

Because Dimitri won’t go to the Olympics. Because he doesn’t care. He called him to tell him that he gave up. That he is too weak to carry on.

Felix thrashes in his sleep. Dreams of bursts of colors, blurred figures, distant steps and a ringing, a ringing of the phone at his home when the phone still had a cable to connect it to its station and the reliable ringing at 8:45 in the evening-

A knock at his door. Felix's eyes crack open, grabs the front of his shirt- No. It's the illusion mesh of his costume beneath his fingers. He is still wearing the costume of his free program. It is damp, clinging to his skin. He should have taken it off before he slept.

The knocking grows more insistent and… of course, it’s Dimitri’s voice calling him on the other side.

Felix groans, coughs, swallows through the dryness in his mouth. He squints at the clock.

22:03

This fool must have been standing outside for hours now.

“Go away!” He croaks out, cursing at the hoarseness. Something irritates his eyes. He screws them shut. It’s the lenses; he’s slept with his contact lenses and now they’re burning. Did he forget to take them out? He heaves his legs out of bed, two blocks of lead. The bruises throb, finally clawing for his attention. Where is the water? He fumbles his hand around, still sitting on the bed. He glances at the fridge thrumming beneath the table, the ancient lamp next to the hideous wing chair. Damn, his old man has to stop being so stingy with their accommodation. He presses a hand against his side.

“I’ve been standing here for three hours. The security has already checked me twice. I believe I deserve the right to check whether you are alright.”

Three hours?! Doesn’t he have anything better to do? He rakes a hand over his face, smears over a mess of mascara and rouge. Disgusting. He glares at his blackened fingertips. No way Dimitri will see him like this. “You deserve nothing!”

This finally silences Dimitri. Except it doesn’t because Dimitri is Dimitri, and this fool starts rattling his door. Ready to break in by force with the force of a boar.

“What the fuck! Stop it!”

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Fuck, it’s security.

In a few steps, Felix has stumbled to the door, pulling it open. His hand darts out to pull Dimitri in and slam the door shut with a bang. Right in front of the security personnel’s nose.

His finger drills into Dimitri’s chest. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Dimitri doesn’t answer immediately. He’s been asked a question but he just glances over to his bed, glances over Felix’s face instead. He shouldn’t look at him with this pathetic face, with brows drooped low with worry. Worry that has kept him hostage in front of Felix’s door.

He scowls deeper, but Dimitri catches himself and tilts his head in an apologetic smile. “You must be hungry. I thought we could eat dinner together.”

He holds up two pizza boxes. The smell of cheese and tomatoes immediately hit Felix like a wall, and he wrinkles his nose, glaring at the boxes. _Together._ Dimitri should have already eaten with their sports club. His old man invited all of them after the competition.

He takes the pizzas anyway. The box feels damp against his fingers. Cold, obviously, but it’s fine. Cold pizza isn’t bad. “I haven’t eaten yet… I… forgot.” It’s true enough. “I’ll take this. You can leave now.”

“Ah, I haven’t eaten yet either! Or… I have a bit but I’m still not full.”

“Huh? Why? Was my old man too stingy to get you proper dinner?” As if.

“Oh, that’s not quite the case.” Dimitri waves with his hands. “I wasn’t hungry when they left for dinner and decided not to join. Also, I wanted to play some games with you.”

“Keep your pity to yourself.” Dimitri’s random key smashing can’t be called gaming. He sucks at it; anyone can tell he doesn’t enjoy it. Felix lets himself fall onto his bed, opening the upper pizza box. Only two slices of a four cheese pizza greet him from their cardboard grave. His stomach growls at the sight. That can’t be right. He tries his luck with the second box. A prosciutto pizza. One of the slices is already gone, too. “You… give me the leftovers of your food?” Is that the extent of his care? Sure, Dimitri stood outside for hours and… was apparently hungry… But what the fuck?

Dimitri tilts his head, an abashed smile on his lips. “I’ll just eat one more slice. Please, have the rest.” He sits down next to Felix, hand reaching for one of the four cheeses slices, but Felix slaps that glutton’s hand away. First, he ate almost everything and then he still thinks he can choose what he wants? Next, he wants Felix to feed him. He shoves the prosciutto pizza onto Dimitri’s lap, starting with the four cheese pizza himself.

They chat for a while, about anything but the free skate - Felix’s free skate. There is nothing Felix has to say about his performance anyway. Dimitri saw all of it, knows all of it. It was just one misstep. No big deal. Dozens of competitions, and he never placed off the podium. If one mishap could derail his career, he wouldn’t be where he is now. Instead, they talk about others. About his parents who will visit Glenn for New Year, Dedue who will visit his family in Duscur.

Felix has taken out his contacts. It’s sometimes nice to not be able to see everything clearly, to let the mind fill in the gaps, to pretend the slight frown on Dimitri’s face isn’t there. He pulls his knees closer while Dimitri’s hand brushes against his bruises, warm hands on his sides applying a soothing ointment.

“The press conference was quite exhausting,” Dimitri says. “Claude kept the journalists entertained but Dedue and I, especially, felt out of place.”

Felix bites his lip.

Of course. Dimitri was at the winner’s press conference. He won his first international medal at a major event. Of course, everyone wants to know his goals, his plans. The reporters must love him, him and his handsome face, his pleasant smile which draws dimples on his cheeks while Felix always scowls into the cameras. They must be glad it was Dimitri who medalled and Felix who… failed.

“You won bronze,” he says. Dimitri’s hand twitches against his bruise.

It stings.

 _“You don’t belong here,”_ is what Felix told him years ago. It still holds true. Dimitri wasn’t supposed to move to Colan. To switch coaches and let his old man be his mentor. He wasn’t supposed to compete here, wasn’t supposed to win a medal. What did he look like with the medal in his hand? How deep did he have to bow to let the medal be placed around his neck?

He tugs at Dimitri’s wrist and pulls his hand away from his bruise. The ointment starts to burn on his skin; it burns nearly as much as his face.

His hand travels to his face, traces the line under his eye. Makeup chafes like grime against his fingertips; it’s smeared all over his features. Distorted. Disgusting. False.

His hand moves on to the birthmark on his neck.

Dimitri shouldn’t see him like this. Not Dimitri out of all the people. “Can you leave?” he says, faces away. His voice is too small, too pathetic in his own ears.

There is silence between them. The mattress dips when Dimitri shifts but he doesn’t stand up. And Felix doesn’t want to turn around to check why he won’t leave him alone. Why he still sits there when Felix feels tired and disgusting in his sweaty costume which he should have taken off long ago, but Dimitri just stays.

Felix’s jaw clenches. Tries not to snarl because Dimitri doesn’t deserve it.

Because, of course, it had to be him who stands on the podium.

“I… Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Dimitri stands in the door frame, feet scraping over the ground. He glances at Felix, glances at his hands. “Sleep well,” he finally says, forces a smile to his lips. The smile doesn’t want to be there and Felix doesn’t want it to be there, either, as its only purpose is to soothe Felix when this is not what he wants.

“Congratulations on your first medal,” he presses out, “You’ve proved me wrong.” Dimitri’s smile drops before the door clicks shut.

The gala passes. And the banquet. Too many people swarm these places so Felix sits out both, keeps to himself and scours through the news. Almyran news outlets have already cast their nets, pulled it in and presented their big catch. As if it is a given now that Claude will win. And considering his track record, he most certainly is on track to win the Olympics, undeterred by any pressure, any obstacles.

The praise Claude earns is not the problem. The problem is all those questions which are raised at Felix. When a reporter asks why Felix completely fell apart. When a journalist writes the question: Will Felix make a comeback or fall from grace?

There are thousands of questions directed at him and not directed at him at all; directed at the fans, at those who follow the sports. A pretense to ask Felix when he has no chance to answer. When all he can do is to shut off his phone, ignore the haughty voices.

Shrouded in the hues of dawn, they part for the airport hours later. Dimitri still has sleep lingering in the corner of his eyes. He has spent the night in Felix’s hotel room, leaving the banquet early. They laid on Felix’s bed, played one video game after another and Dimitri kept on losing and only stopped when his misery became unbearable so that Felix had to turn off the TV.

A yawn fills seconds as they drive through the quiet of the early morning.

Except, his old man doesn’t want to remain quiet. He has to be annoying instead.

“Felix.” He turns his head, looking over his shoulders from his front seat, opens his mouth. He stills and sighs, looks at him as if he is still five years old, still too naïve. “A few journalists and reporters have asked me about your performance. I declined most of them but couldn’t decline all of them. It was a tiring season. There has been a lot of pressure on you. I assured them you will be back next season... with all you have. When we’re back, we can analyze what has happened, assess what we need to work on, but more importantly, you need to rest.” His old man added a heavy pause to emphasize his point. His old man is wrong; rest won’t help Felix to understand what went wrong. He needs to analyze what happened as soon as he can and correct his mistakes.

It is only when he nods, his old man turns to Dimitri. “It was a long season for both of you. Take at least a moon off. Only light exercises. You hear me? We will make a strategic plan on how we’re going to approach the next season but if I see any of you two at the rink-!” His voice is low – a miserable attempt at being threatening when he is too soft to follow up on his words.

There is no need to pay them any mind.  
  


***  
  


His old man is a humble man. Pleasant some would say but spineless in Felix’s eyes.

So different from Lambert that Felix sometimes wonders why Dimitri takes after Rodrigue rather than his own father. When Dimitri and Rodrigue share the same faint smile, the same crinkles around their eyes, both prone to say ‘please’ and ‘thanks’ when no such pleasantries are needed.

Lambert on the other hand is a man who puffs out his chest, sets his hands against his hips and beams whenever Felix and his family travel to Fhirdiad for a visit.

Ever since he was four, Felix knew the Blaiddyds have Olympic medals in their home. Nobody had to tell him because they stand in their vitrine, shining for themselves, pretty illustrations engraved into precious metal.

The proud eagle for the Olympic Games in Enbarr, the graceful deer for Derdriu, the determined bear for the Games in Sreng.

Lambert smiles at him when he presses his face against the vitrine, nudging him away from the glass which is so fogged that he can’t even see the medals anymore. He opens the vitrine and asks him which one his favorite is and Felix points at the deer. It’s a pretty silver. Leicester’s branding is always golden and warm; the gold medal must have been beautiful, but the cold sheen of the silver medal provides the antlers with elegance as they grow like ice crystals on the crescent moon shaped medal. Felix’s fingers brush over the relief.

“The Nutcracker.” Lambert smiles. “I was 27.” He places the medal around Felix’s neck, brushing at the seams of his shirt to smooth the wrinkles. “Well, look at you. I see a new star born in the firmament.”

“Stop giving him funny ideas.” His father walks in while Felix ogles the medal from both sides. XVII is carved into the silver. It doesn’t look like Faerghun language. His father crouches down and reaches one hand out. “This isn’t for you, Fe. Can you give it back to Uncle Lambert, please?”

It is, though. Uncle Lambert handed it to him himself. He is clearly in the right. There is no harm in carrying the medal. He obviously won’t toss it or create scratches on its surface, but his father knits his brows, presses his lips into a thin line.

Years later Felix believes it is jealousy which distorted his father’s face. After all, his father, too, was an Olympian years ago. He placed the medal back into Uncle Lambert’s hands, gaze dropping to the ground as if it was his fault to touch something so precious.

More years down the line, Glenn searches for the cookie jar in the shelf of their living room. Felix is ten. Ever since he lost his first milk tooth, he has no interest in sweets because it causes his teeth to fall quicker and he is still traumatized by his mother looping a thread around his wobbly tooth and binding the other end to the handle of their kitchen door.

“Be strong, Fe. It’ll be over in a second,” she said as she slammed the door shut.

It’s the first time Felix realizes that parents like to believe they have their children’s best interest in mind but have long forgotten what it means to be a little child. Needless to say, Felix cries as his tooth dangles at the door. He will protect the rest of his milk teeth at all cost.

Thus, his disdain for anything sweet is born.

“Glenn, I don’t want cookies.” He holds the stool which trembles under his brother’s feet while Zoltan circles his legs, meowing as she nudges her head against his calves. Glenn tries to reach for the top of the shelf. Only his toes touch the stool, his right foot wobbling around that Felix has to jerk his face away to not get hit.

“No, I think I got something!” That something scratches over the wood-

Zoltan hisses when a tin box clangs onto the ground, jumping open and medals roll out of their enclosure. She snatches one of them, pawing at a bronze one.

But Felix stares at the golden one. The one with the words ‘XVI Olympic Winter Games’ carved into it – a lion roars proudly in its center.

***

Two weeks after Worlds Felix’s parents depart for Dagda.

Dimitri accompanies them to the airport while Felix doesn’t bother to see them off. They’ll be back soon enough, and it is only now before New Year that his rink mates finally leave for their homes.

Coming back from Worlds, he was met with questioning glances whilst nobody dared to ask him directly.

Chatter dies when he enters the changing room, dies when he enters the rink. Everyone has questions – questions about him but not for him. They don’t ask. Out of consideration one might think, but in truth they duck their head, averting their eyes as if caught in the act.

For the holidays, his rink mates leave and make space for him to take the ice.

He laces his boots as tight as he can, curses that they are soon going to break down. Time passes too fast when he needs every second to train.

At this point, no one is at the rink anymore.

It’s easier when he has the rink for himself. There are no sympathetic glances, no unwanted attention. There are only his blades, himself, and the repetitions of movements, drawing white lines onto the canvas of ice.

Bending his knees in fluid up and down motions, his blade glides over the ice in swift steps. The ice is perfect for training; no carvings scar it except for his own. It’s smooth beneath his blades, easy to accelerate and easy to chase dizzying paces. The air is crisp, almost burns in his lungs. When he halts, the ticking of the clock grows louder, dictating the cadence of his breaths. The next time he breathes out, he takes two long strides, turns to skate backwards and picks up speed.

For a while, there is only the sound of the scratch of his blades against the ice. The snow that is shred when he moves a foot against the direction of his movement to slow down. He glides from one side to the other, in circles, in figure eights. When he goes into a curve, the edges of his blades are deep; the rhythm, the repetition are like clockwork.

His spins are rapid, his spirals steady.

He takes another breath, readies his posture.

He picks up speed again.

A three-turn and-

He never takes off.

A shudder permeates his breath. Just one attempt. There are so many more which he has, so many chances he can take. Has to take because he needs his quad to go to the Olympics. Stopping at the boards, he closes his eyes. _Relax._ It’s easy. The speed he needs, the step sequence leading into the jump. From the lean of his body before the takeoff to the exact moment the boot picks into the ice to lift off. It’s just this break of a second, this piece in the sequence.

All the hours of burning eyes analyzing recordings, the strain of watching others do it and himself do it better-

He inhales again. The slight lean in the air, the moment his legs unwrap when he is back on the ice.

_I can do it._

Taking a deep breath, he pushes himself away from the board.

Concentrate on the form, visualize the jump.

_I can do it._

He leans forwards, picks his toe-

_The fall._

“Felix!”

Gold flashes by in the blink of an eye; the boards are too close. He squeezes his eyes shut. Don’t panic. Don’t panic! The jump can be saved; it _has_ to be saved. Pull yourself together and land!

His blade connects with the ice, his ankle wrestles, strains to keep him up. He has to keep fighting, has to stay on his feet; he has to save at least this one single jump.

His knee gives in, caves under the force and he winces, clutching his ankle.

“Why?” His fist swings at the ice, halts before it hits. It’s not the ice which is at fault. It’s his own. He can jump. He really can...

“-jure yourself. You need to rest more. Please, take care of yourself.”

“Shut up!” He bristles. “I will land it.”

The clock ticks.

Time marches forward relentlessly. His heavy breath cannot catch up with the seconds which tick and tick and tick. And won’t stop ticking. And Dimitri just stands there trying to convince him to stop training when it is the time that should, please, _stop_.

Without a quad he stands no chance.

And even so, he landed none since Worlds.

He skates over to the boards and steps off the ice, winces at the dull pain on his hip. A bruise which will bloom blue and purple before fading again. When Dimitri walks over with a frown plastered over his face, he glowers back. “Stop making that face.”

Dimitri’s gaze is steady. Nothing changes in the way he looks at him and he doesn’t answer right away. He opens his mouth and closes it again, settles for a smile in the end. He should save the smile for someone who needs it.

“Ingrid and Sylvain will arrive soon. You should get ready so we can fetch them at the train station.”

_Too considerate._

There is the lump again, heavy in his throat. He tries to swallow, forces himself to look away, steps away with his head held high. He doesn’t need Dimitri’s consideration.

***

Felix and Dimitri decide to pick up skating as a sport when they are five. Felix’s father is the first one to know of their plan to start skating together. The two of them ran into the living room of the Fraldarius home in Colan, both panting from the quick sprint down the stairs, unable to hide their smiles. Felix reaches up so his father can pick him up, and Rodrigue obliges, lifting him and spinning him around.

His father laughs when Felix laughs. The corners of his eyes crinkle and he says, “You can’t, Fe.”

It’s not always easy to understand his father. It’s not easy to understand adults. They speak in the context of their experiences which children do not have. Sometimes Zoltan is easier to understand than his father, even though she doesn’t speak human.

However, despite his father’s qualms, they pick up the sport – Dimitri in Fhirdiad and Felix in Colan. They skate together whenever their families visit each other but it isn’t enough, too rare to do all the things they want to do together: to talk, to skate, to laugh.

Felix lies in his bed, waiting for Dimitri to return from getting some water. He blinks into the darkness with heavy eyelids. It’s late. Dimitri takes way too long to get water and they still have so much to talk about. He has to stay awake.

Hm…

There are murmurs outside, too quiet to understand. The click of doors. Steps approach his bed and Dimitri crawls under his blanket which he wraps around him, kicking at the corner so it covers them both.

“Why did it take you so long?” He tries to suppress a yawn.

“Mh.” Dimitri adjusts his position. “I talked to Glenn.”

“Hmm.” He shudders when the yawn escapes. “He’ll help us with practice.” He smiles. “We’ll skate together.”

Dimitri doesn’t answer, and Felix slips away into sleep.

***

Felix’s parents return from Dagda the week after New Year. Their luggage brims with food as if Faerghus is a barren land without the promise of anything to eat.

“Your grandmother insisted these will help you with nerves and make you smarter.” His old man points at sacks of dried fruits and… Felix can’t really name the rest.

Hopefully, he won’t get assigned to Cup of Khingai in Dagda for his Grand Prix Qualifier. Their storage is full of ingredients which still last from their last trip and the one before.

Dimitri helps with unpacking the suitcases, well-behaved as he is.

He won’t be needed here, so he marches down the hallway to the stairs.

“You haven’t been training, have you?” The old man looks up from the sea of plastic bags.

Felix halts, hand gripping the balusters. He is clearly not talking to Dimitri. He’d never insinuate that Dimitri doesn’t heed his words. Well, he isn’t wrong to do so.

“I trained.” Felix looks over his shoulder to glance at his old man. Slouched shoulders and sunken eyes. An Olympic gold medalist who cannot carry the weight of his gold with pride. What can he do to help Felix?

He turns and leaves.

It’s less than a year until the Olympics. Less than a year to work out his choreography, his condition and most importantly his jumps. The first time he managed a quadruple jump, finishing all four revolutions in the air, his heart beat so loud that he couldn’t hear the rasps of his own breath anymore. Ever since then, he landed quad toes, quad salchows and quad flips. Just before the previous season he started to work on the quad loop and now this: All gone.

On some days he runs at the beach, the sandy ground demanding focus on the stability of his core and efficiency of his muscles. The salty sea air clears his lungs while seagulls indulge in their mating season which is honestly annoying, especially when Dimitri runs next to him pointing at two seagulls engaging in their balancing act and Dimitri doesn’t know what they’re doing despite living here for almost four years – Felix is certainly not going to explain, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Once his old man is back, Felix talks him into constructing his training regime. They spend hours on ice, hours in the gym. They schedule the summer camp in Blue Sea Moon – Felix tries to convince his father to let him stay in Colan, but he insists it’s for the better if he joins. Though, it is clearly better for him to stay in Colan, to have the empty rink for himself when all his rinkmates go with his old man. He could be alone and have his peace, away from him, from Dimitri and from Ashe – Ashe who is recovering from his injury; Ashe who has to go to the Olympics because despite his injuries he placed high, higher than Felix. He deserves to go, and when they meet at the rink, Felix can’t look him into the eye because Ashe has the same expression like when he was told he will not perform his quads: the clench of his jaw, the steel in his eyes.

Three times a week he takes ballet classes to train his flexibility, his interpretation of music and the expressiveness of his gestures and his face. He grits his teeth when he forces himself into a split. His eyes narrow, and he glares at the mirror, at the man who can’t land his jumps.

His morning routine grows longer when he stands in the bathroom, screwing his eyes shut, trying to moisten them, grinding away the soreness. His hand glides over the shelf, knocks over a bottle of cleansing foam and grabs foundation and concealer. With careful strokes he covers the dark rings, adds a bit color to liven up his cheeks.

He looks acceptable, he thinks.

And when he walks into the kitchen, he fixes his old man with an assertive stare. “I’ll land it today.”

The wry smile mocks him.

On other days he sits in his room, Zoltan on his lap, curling into a purring ball while he brushes her fur. His free hand holds his phone, playing the same four minutes to him, again and again.

The first two jumps vault him into the air as if gravity doesn’t exist. The arch is exactly the way it should be, spanning three meters or more. Going by the applause the crowd agrees, nearly drowning out the music. Everything went so well, from his steps to his spin; it’s the way he performed it in practice, but then after his Biellmann his focus just… slips.

What is it? The fatigue after a long season? The pressure of being Faerghus’ number one? Felix’s face crumples. No.

There’s a knock at his door. A gentle thud-thud. Dimitri peers into the room, eyes settling on the bed, on Felix. He knits his brows. “It’s time for dinner. Do you want me to bring you something?”

Felix presses his lips together. Heat creeps into his face and he looks away. “No... Leave.”

For a while only Zoltan’s purring permeates the room. Moments later the door clicks shut.

He exhales a shaky breath. Zoltan paws at his chest, mewls at his face.

“I’m fine,” he says, returning to stroke her fur. He fumbles with his phone again, switching to another video.

Dimitri’s free skate starts to play; the one which earned him bronze. He carries the slow tune with his powerful jumps right when singing sets in, when the violins underline the melody. When he glides over the ice with his arms raised to his back like wings, the feathers stitched to his costume tremble in the wind.

He’s beautiful. Tragic, but beautiful, and he came a long way.

When Dimitri entered the senior circuit, he didn’t even manage to reach the minimum score to participate at the World Championships. He stood no chance with his programs devoid of any quads. Artistry without technical finesse to back it up is a vain waste of time.

Felix puts his phone aside and wriggles into his sheets with Zoltan crawling up to his chest, warming it when he otherwise feels cold.

He shouldn’t have told Ashe two spots are enough. It… might be him who will take the fall. Dimitri is a beautiful skater with massive jumps and imposing posture. The skating federation has always recognized his talent. The media loves him.

It was a fool’s act. It’s just… he never wanted Dimitri to skate like this.

***

Felix still remembers how he leaves the Heroes Stadium after Skate Adrestia during his second senior season almost two years ago. Silver in his hand, he eyes the medal with the rough carvings. Even the bouquet looks wilted. Somehow events in Gronder always end up cheap.

As he passes down the path to the metro, familiar voices come from the greenfield next to the stadium. When he turns, Claude stands in front of Dimitri. A stark contrast – the winner of the event while Dimitri finished in the bottom half. He raises a brow. What kind of business does Claude have with Dimitri?

They look odd next to each other with Dimitri towering over Claude. Dimitri must have had another growth spurt. They kinda look like a lion and a kitty. Huh, isn’t Claude about his own height? Do he and Dimitri also look so ridiculous next to each other?

Claude grabs Dimitri’s wrist and Dimitri pauses to look at him.

Felix’s chest constricts. Since when are they this close? This seems serious. He probably shouldn’t-

“Everyone can see, you don’t belong here. Your skate is mediocre and boring. I feel nothing looking at it.”

The air is thick, difficult to inhale. Did Claude spout these words? At Dimitri?

He told Dimitri that his attitude will offend someone but for Claude to direct these words at Dimitri… It is crass.

It must hurt.

Claude isn’t even finished; he goes on and Dimitri becomes smaller with every word that hits him.

Felix bites his lower lip. His jaw aches from the tension, but he forces his feet to move. He told Dimitri. Told him that he doesn’t belong, that he has to take this seriously or he will insult the years of efforts his competition pours into the sport.

It serves him right to get scolded by an Olympian.

But why does it sting in his own chest?

***

The nice thing about Colan beach is that tourists don’t flock here for vacation. Even in Garland Moon when the backyard of Faerghus starts to finally warm, anyone with a bit of common sense chooses to travel to Adrestia or Leicester for a beach vacation where actual summer graces the waters.

The bad thing about Colan beaches is once the seagulls’ mating season ends, their breeding season starts and it might be due to the scowl edged into Felix’s features or the glare in his eyes that these birds deem him as a threat to their babies, but they constantly caw at him and nosedive towards him just to halt a few meters before him, cawing more, piercing his ears.

They can’t shut up.

He’s jogging next to Ashe who pants next to him, back bent forward, feet dragging over the sand. It’s the first time they’ve jogged together; Ashe asked the evening before, suddenly popping a ‘Hey Felix! Let’s run together tomorrow!🙃 ’ into his messages.

He should have refused. Ashe still carries the stern glare, and Felix is sure: it is directed at him.

It’s only been half an hour and Ashe sounds like a dying engine. When they reach a pier, Felix comes to a halt. Ashe needs to improve his stamina. It’s pathetic how he braces his hands against his knees, gasping for air. Ashe grabs the front of his shirt to wipe over his face before he stands up, looks him straight into his eyes.

The glare again. Felix takes a step back; his knee caves for the break of a second.

Ashe’s eyes are burning, blazing.

He looks alive, so much more than Felix has felt in the past few days or weeks, maybe even moons. Felix’s fingertips travel to his cheek, to the dip below his eyes, gracing over sensitive skin. He is tired and Ashe’s glare weighs him down.

“Your makeup is melting.” Ashe straightens his back. His brows are furrowed into a knitted line. “You’re exhausted.”

Exhausted. He turns his face away. It’s a pretense. He is; he really is exhausted but this is not what Ashe should concern himself with. It isn’t what Ashe wants to talk about. He glares at him the way he glared at his old man because Felix wronged him.

He has to go.

“You’re exhausted.” He turns his back to Ashe, ignoring how his vision swims, ignoring the way his step sways. “I’ll continue running.”

“I don’t blame you for what happened at Worlds,” Ashe grabs his arm. “But I blame you for dealing with things alone!”

“Fuck off! What do you know about what I deal with?!”

His arm torn back; he gasps for air. The chill hitting his lungs crushes him. How could he? How _could_ he spit venom at Ashe? They stare at each other with nasty words hanging between them while the heat in his chest freezes to ice.

Ashe’s jaw clenches, and his teeth grind this time, and Felix wants to leave.

He has no right to hurt Ashe when he was too arrogant. When he wagered their one chance to go to the Olympics.

“I- I’m sorry.” He presses his lips together, forcing down the trembling. He shouldn’t lash out, shouldn’t hurt Ashe.

Ashe reaches out to him, but Felix jerks away. Again.

“Felix, you…” He hesitates. Because Felix made a mistake and doesn’t own it.

“You don’t need to worry about your Olympic spot.” It’s not him who will stay behind. “I haven’t landed a single quad since Worlds.”

He swallows.

“I won’t make the Olympic team.”

Thick silence separates them – Ashe on one side, Felix on the other.

After all those years, Dimitri has taken Claude’s words to heart. He didn’t listen to Felix – Dimitri didn’t care. But when Claude confronted him, he changed; he owned his talent and worked on his skills. He rose through the ranks and look at him now: A king.

Dimitri deserves the spot.

Felix doesn’t.

His chest tightens. There is this tension again. The tension that has been keeping him awake for most of his nights, unrelenting, not allowing him to sleep. And right at this moment, he felt like it was about to swallow him whole.

_I want to go._

Ashe’s arms wind around him, pull him into an embrace. It is warm and tight, and Ashe’s shoulders start to shake when Ashe shouldn’t cry. It isn’t his fault that it will only be him and Dimitri who will go to the Games in Almyra. Felix can still stand in the audience and force out a cheer. Felix can still try to be a friend. But Ashe’s arms cling to him; the shaking mounts; he rubs circles at Felix’s back. Felix wants to say something, give him comfort and he opens his mouth, but his breath hitches.

Ah.

It’s not Ashe who is crying.

***

During the junior circuit, it is Claude who spurs Felix on to increase his technical repertoire. Ever since their novice days they’ve often competed at the same competitions. If it was his father’s choice, Felix would be an artistic skater with minimal technical content, but with Claude snatching gold medals right in front of Felix’s nose, he can’t resist the temptation of learning quads.

“You’re teaching Dedue the quad sal, why not me?” He frowns at his father. “I can do it, too.”

His father grimaces. “Quads require a lot of stamina. You still need to improve your condition.”

“My condition is great!”

“After the last competition you choked your Luna tissue box while gasping like grandpa after he ran up the stairs. You’re not ready.”

Felix purses his lips. His tissue box does look a little maltreated. Though, it’s old; he had this Sailor Moon-themed black cat tissue box ever since he’s six. Sure, he’s still a bit sorry that Luna’s eye popped out from the choking. His father had to show him how to stitch it back so he can do it himself next time.

Of course, there won’t be a next time.

“I’ll improve my condition.” He peers at his father who just sighs and shakes his head.

Over time his condition does improve, and he adds one quad after another to his collection of jumps. However, this is not enough. Claude is always a step ahead, raising the bar one element at a time. If it’s not a jump, it’s a new transition or an improvement on his spins.

They meet at competitions; they exchange embraces and pull each other onto the podium, raising their medals to smile at the cameras.

Once Dedue’s growth spurt ends and he stabilizes his jumps, he joins them on the podium, always in changing orders – but it’s truly only Dedue and Felix changing because Claude’s position at the top is a constant until he switches to the senior circuit where he tastes defeat for the first time.

Until he places third at the Olympic Games in Morfis.

“It was a dumpster fire!” Claude flails with his hand; he almost hits the screen of his computer.

He sits in his home in Almyra, sharing his Olympic experience with Felix, Ashe and Dedue who are sleeping over at Felix’s place. The three of them stare at the screen with Ashe squished in the middle like tuna in a sandwich.

“During practice everything was so amazing and smooth but a few days later before the actual competition everyone was crying. I cried, too.” Voice breathy, distant. Sometimes his voice comes before his face moves on the screen. Claude wipes at the corner of his eye. “Emotions were running high. Mercedes walked from one athlete to another to comfort them while her brother was fighting his own nerves in the corner of the hallway. I’ve never seen Catherine losing her shit like this. She was screeching. She was so tense; it’s a miracle she didn’t snap at Shamir when she snuck up on her. The coaches tried to calm us down but somehow we all spiraled.” He shakes his head. “Our nerves were shot. I- sorry. I felt so sick before my short program.”

Felix never thought that fragile is an adjective he could attribute to Claude but there he is: Hand clasped over his eyes, mouth turned downwards. He can only hope the trembling of his lips is because of their bad connection.

Ashe and Dedue’s faces are pale. Felix probably doesn’t look any better based on the nausea coiling in his chest. The three of them were talking about how amazing it must be that Claude is now an Olympic medalist, looking forward to the call, and then he unpacks _this_ story instead.

They saw how across the disciplines several top athletes missed their jumps. Fell when they have landed these jumps in dozens of competitions before.

“The next Games will be different.” Claude glances up again. A glint now adorns his eyes. “Next time it will be us. We will take the stage. I want the Games in Almyra to be the one where we all… where all of us skate at our best.” He presses his lips together, knitting his brows. It’s so different from the self-assured smile he usually carries, the one where he lifts the left corner of his mouth, flashing a bit of teeth while his eyes narrow like a lucky cat.

“Please,” Claude says.

Felix’s hands are clammy, but even so he nods alongside Ashe and Dedue. There is no way they can say no.

“We’ll be there,” Dedue says, and Claude smiles. His mouth doesn’t do what it usually does, but his eyes still narrow when the smile lifts his cheeks.

***

Felix stops plastering his face with make-up after Ashe finds him out. It itches in the heat and summer will only get warmer. His parents frown when they see him; they haven’t seen his bare face since they came back from Dagda.

His mother cooks soup for him with the ingredients his grandparents stuffed into their luggage. It simmers in the slow cooker for hours.

His old man talks him into taking walks together at the beach, bare feet in sand; the sand grains scrub their soles. It’s cool when they dig their feet deep into the sand. Sometimes his old man brings a box along, filled with watermelon, and they eat it while they walk – mostly silent. Sometimes his old man talks.

Dimitri doesn’t change much. He tried to convince him to go to the cinemas, restaurants or go hiking before. He does the same still.

Though, Ashe… Well, Ashe makes it his personal mission to safeguard Felix’s sleep. When he isn’t crashing Felix’s place, he invites him over to his and Dedue’s flat where the two of them cook a feast – any other word wouldn’t do all the effort justice. There is always seafood, a meat dish, greens and vegetables.

“It’s fine!” Ashe beams. “I love leftovers.”

Who loves leftovers? Felix grimaces but digs in anyway. Ashe and Dedue bonded over food. Felix would be a fool to not eat.

When they lie down to rest, Ashe watches over him. When he wakes up again, Ashe tells him to continue sleeping as if it is easy to continue once someone has cracked open their eyes. He even goes to the length of hiding his phone to hinder him from absorbing blue light like a sponge.

They have so many sleepovers that it’s natural to ask whether they’ll share a room at the summer camp, too, but apparently, it’s only Felix who thinks so.

Ashe blinks at him. “With me? Not Dimitri?”

Ugh. “No.” He shakes his head.

“Mh…” Ashe turns to Dedue who frowns so slightly that one will miss it if they don’t know him.

In the end Dedue shrugs his shoulder. “I can share a room with Dimitri.”

It’s settled then. Even though it's unnecessary that they act like this is a transaction. As if Dimitri is supposed to share a room with Felix. They haven’t shared one in years.

When they all come together at the summer camp Felix tries his best to get in as much practice as he can. It doesn’t solely mean to skate on the ice but to also analyze, strategize and think ahead. All the athletes which come here to train display their skills and hone their techniques. There is a lot to gain from watching and watching is something that Felix is still capable of. The failures of his own training regime don’t allow for arrogance about his own skill anyway. It would even be misguided.

There is much to learn, be it Mercedes and Emile’s silky skating skills, which sound like a whisper on the ice, advanced even for ice dancers like them, or the precise centering of Lysithea’s spin as if she was strung on a silver thread. Even Claude, as annoying as he is, has much to offer. His trump card has to be his poker face: The ability to make split second decisions when things don’t go his way without the judges’ or the audience’s notice. When he’s unable to get the rotation of his jump under control he knows precisely where to mend a combination jump. It’s a skill difficult to replicate, but can be emulated by planning ahead, by detailing out all the failure scenarios ahead of time instead of during the program. At least that’s possible when the programs stand and the choreography lays before him.

But Felix still needs to make a decision on his music. And Manuela keeps bothering him to make a choice.

At the camp, they all live under one roof. Certain things nearly become a reflex, like his groan which follows the knocking at his door, which is followed by the “Hey, Felix! I know you’re in there!”, announcing Sylvain. His so-called friends drag him into town in their spare time where pesky fans loom in dodgy alleys and jump at Claude whenever possible.

Felix is only the support character in this charade, the NPC allowing for the real star to shine. The person B whose problems don’t matter.

At least, he doesn’t look like a zombie anymore. He has Ashe to thank for this.

“Are you fine?” Dimitri asks him when they are back at the camp. When they stand in front of Felix and Ashe’s room.

Felix’s hand is on the door handle. He pauses. This question lingered too many times in the air, asked by his mother, by Seteth and too many times by Dimitri. Even reporters ask this question to then fabricate lies. There are so many questions they could ask. Why does it have to be this one? He presses the handle down and leaves Dimitri alone in the hallway.

His old man keeps on prattling as they walk over to the rink a few days later. Something about finally making a decision on the music he wants to use for his routines so Manuela can start working on the choreography or she’ll make a decision for him.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says. His old man finally shuts up, pushes the door and holds it open for Felix to enter. He grabs the handle and sighs at the sight of fellow athletes scurrying over the ice. Whatever. Finally, it’s time for train-

Claude flies.

Felix’s eyes widen.

The height and the distance are unmistakably _his_. It’s a massive jump. And for the split of a second when Claude whirls through the air, his contours blur; his features yield.

_Blue hair, earthen eyes, lithe arms blossoming like petals. A landing so graceful, a swan cannot hope-_

Claude crashes onto the ice, slithers across the surface. A meter followed by another and another. An endless scratch over the ice, and Felix’s lungs constrict.

Dimitri stands there, silent in his shock. He stares at Claude with arms extended and he gasps as if it was him who just knocked onto the unyielding ice.

Claude props himself up. He clearly doesn’t have the energy to when pain distorts his face. Still, he musters a wry smile and has the gall to laugh. _To laugh._ Claude will jump again, and he will land. He jumps, and he lands, and he is a winner.

_He won long ago._

Felix slams the door shut. He slaps away his old man’s hand.

It’s not fair.

When Dimitri and Claude meet – at the summer camp or at competitions – they skate together, and they fall. But they stand up again and continue and catch each other to carry on. It’s the reason why Dimitri managed to grow, to rise in the ranks. Claude used to spur Felix on, but now he takes Dimitri’s hand. Embraces him when they reach the podium together like at Worlds.

And Felix stands far away, feet on the ground, watching from the sidelines.

Eyes glare back at him. He has no right to interfere with what they do, want to do, _can do_.

Dimitri’s gaze meets his. His brows are drawn together. Concern or maybe worry. Feelings Felix never wanted from Dimitri.

He storms out.

He barricades himself in his room, burying his face in the plushy head of his Luna tissue box. Its left eye is loose, threatening to fall off.

Ashe brings him leftovers from the dinner buffet. He tells him that he heard what happened, that it isn’t their intention to upset him, that Dimitri wants to talk to him.

“We talked,” Felix says.

When Ashe frowns at him, he adds, “I’m fine. Really. Go see Dedue.” He even forces a smile to his face, or he hopes that is what his muscles conjure.

Sometimes hiding in his room isn't enough.

Seteth, the owner of the hostel, has offered him shelter ever since he was a little kid. He read fables to him when he was younger, when his parents just brought him along before he was even a skater himself. Often Seteth would take care of his own work, organize the room assignments of his guests, and handle the delivery of supplies. He would take calls or talk to guests through the window separating the office from the hallway. Felix preferred to hole himself up below the desk at the low table, drawing a kitty, or just lying on the mattress hidden beneath the counter, staring at the fluorescent stars glued to the underside of the counter. Sometimes alone, sometimes with Flayn.

As he grows older, he still hides away in the office too frequently than what is truly acceptable, but safe spaces are rare to come by and this is still a refuge whenever he needs one at the camp.

“Your fellow athletes,” Seteth says, “have different views from you. Different perspectives and different experiences.”

“I know.” Felix cuts an apple into slices, twisting the ribbons of skin into roses. He is sitting on the mattress, legs hidden beneath the low table. “I…” He has no right to get mad at Claude and Dimitri. He fixes his eyes on his hand. The knife circles around the apple, slicing off thin pieces. All he wants is to get back on track, to go to the Olympics.

The carelessness which others display is not a luxury he can have, and he knows he cannot deny them theirs.

A warm hand presses against his shoulder and squeezes him lightly. “Take my words as you prefer. But from a retired athlete to a young one… It is not a bad thing to see other people’s joy and to wish it for oneself. Especially since I know you deserve it, too.”

“You say I’m jealous.”

“As I said. Take my words the way you like.”

Felix looks up from his work, glances to the former ice dancer. A warm smile curls the corners of his lips. A fatherly glint lights his eyes. What does it mean for a former Olympian to say such a thing? He puts down the knife. “I… really want to win.”

“You will.”

A moment passes.

“I will,” he repeats. “Thank you,” he says next.

There is another squeeze and Seteth lets go. He goes back to his stool at the counter to pick up his work at the computer. Felix goes back to carving the apple, working with his hands instead of his legs for a change. A few songs play from the radio station Seteth has tuned in. They don’t sound too bad but not exactly usable for skating music.

Once several apple roses are growing on his plate, he figures he has carved enough of them. He places the plate next to Seteth and leaves the office.

***

As children Felix and Dimitri often sneak out of their homes. When the house is dormant – maybe an occasional snore ruptures through closed doors – they tiptoe down the staircase, giggle when they step through the front door.

On their way to a frozen lake, they share an apple while the cold bites their hands. Neighbors wave at them. The baker in the cobbled alleyway presses a freshly baked cinnamon roll into their reddened hands.

The moment they step on the ice, the cold becomes their friend. They glide over the uneven surface, sometimes stumble over a hunk of ice. But they pick each other up and skate, and they take each other’s hands. Dimitri’s hand is warm. Steady. Safe. Their breaths paint white clouds, while red paints their cheeks.

“Together,” Felix whispers.

Dimitri glimpses at him. “Promise,” he says.

Dimitri breaks their promise. And when he steps onto the ice at Worlds, a wistful smile on his lips with eyes set at a faraway place, Felix again thinks: _You don’t belong here._

***

Choosing a song is difficult as it is. Choosing one for the Olympic season is vastly more complex. Should he recycle one of his successful programs? The ones which earned him high scores? Or should he mix things up? Bring in some fresh air, a challenge for himself and for the judges. But is the Olympic season really the time for challenges? Is he in any state for such?

Every morning he listens through dozens of playlists. He waits till Ashe leaves their room and then scurries through a bunch of suggestions by Manuela, by his parents and friends. A war horse won’t do – music literally everyone else is skating to. He won’t do that. Just four years ago, there were ten Black Swan programs across the four disciplines, a sheer ridiculous number for one season. Can’t Manuela stop trying to shove Moulin Rouge or Carmen up his ass?

With time marching on, it’s not exactly easier to choose music. He sits in his and Ashe’s room, glasses on his nose, scrolling through playlists, headphones blasting him with music non-stop. It’s evening but still bright outside. Finally deciding on the music would be such a great way to end the day.

Did his old man seriously suggest the Phantom of the Opera? Thank the Goddess, he didn’t try to suggest to him the music of his own Olympic skates. Even skating to Sailor Moon songs, the way he did as a 9-year-old, would be a better option.

Actually, no, never mind. Annette would totally go ham with the costume. Just no.

Speaking of the devil, his phone vibrates, Annette’s name lighting up for a second, disappearing the next. He frowns. What could she want from him at this time of the day? He swipes his screen open.

 _Hey, what about this song for your free?_ 😆

Oh. Her taste in music usually tends to be decent. Her self-sung songs even better. Unfortunately, she never allowed him to skate to those - at least not officially. He hasn’t managed to convince her yet that him skating to her live singing would be the ultimate exhibition program, but he will get there.

He connects his headphones to his phone, sighs when the first few notes reach his ear, soothing his mind almost instantly. It’s a calm melody, melancholic in nature but not too dramatic. Something hopeful in the occasional lighter tones, speckled over the whole song.

Yes, this is a good one! He closes his eyes. A jump will go at this accent, a spin to unravel with the crescendo. An Ina Bauer will suit the tune captured in a long vibrato. This piece of music offers so many cues for Manuela to work with. Quickly, he shuts down his laptop and changes into his training outfit; it’s never too late for another training session.

The rink is empty at this time. When he turns on the light, the ice is clear, untarnished and free of any scratches. He connects his phone to speakers to play Annette’s music.

Stepping onto the ice is like opening the door to his home. Within seconds the web of his strides spans the whole rink. He crouches down deep like a tiger. His fingertips scrape over the ice. When he arches his back, his arms lifted above his head, everything becomes lighter, spinning to the melody as the world grows hazy around him.

Going through the motions, again and again. The monotony of the movements is a constant in the fast-paced reality. Years of training eclipse in the Olympics. It’s been his dream for way too long and the end spurt is just a heartbeat away.

It’s their dream.

He doesn’t leave the rink with his jumps back, hasn’t landed a quad, hasn’t even tried. But he landed his triples, crisp and pristine. His jumps will come back, have to come back. There is a dream to chase. He presses his lips together to hide a smile from himself.

The sun tickles him awake next morning. Steps echo in the hallway. He darts around, finding the bed opposite of him empty; Ashe is already gone. It’s been a while since he slept in, a while since Ashe didn’t need to chastise him anymore.

When he enters the dining hall, it is nearly empty. The sun can get unbearably intense around noon, especially for Faerghun fellows. So, it’s only natural that most athletes try to get their workout done in the early morning hours. However, the dining hall isn’t completely empty. His parents sit at a table, skimming through papers. Felix steps closer. Data on their students, apparently. His mother’s face lights up when she lifts her head from the sheets, gifting him a smile which he returns despite himself.

Quickly, he grabs a few breakfast items from the buffet, two slices of bread, some scrambled egg and bacon. The cheese which Dimitri really likes- Wait. He puts it back and scowls. He pours himself some tea instead.

His old man puts the papers aside when Felix sits down, clasping his hands together and putting on his usual serious expression which he mistakes for a caring-father-expression. Felix huffs in place of a greeting and spreads the egg and bacon on his bread, munches on his food, drowns it with a sip of his tea.

His old man clears his throat. “I hope you had a good rest.”

“I did.”

His old man’s eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling, earning a jab from his wife. “Oh? That’s great! I mean… It’s important you rest well!”

They chat a bit about Felix’s training, the next steps he should take. His dad sighs when he goes through his different students, counting their weaknesses and strengths. Ashe will need to work more on his condition, he has enough stamina for the short but when it comes to the long, he loses his edge towards the end. It’s true. That time they ran at the beach, Ashe was way too out of breath considering the short jog. Leonie on the other hand needs to focus more on her flexibility. Her spins could look nicer, her cantilever cleaner. And Dimitri… “He is working on his quad salchow. His quad toe is fairly stable. He hits it eight out of ten times.”

Felix frowns. “That’s it?” That can’t be enough. Even among the ladies some can jump more. Leonie told him the other day that Edelgard can jump a quad lutz with a harness.

“The height he gets on his jumps is phenomenal,” his mother chips in as if that can redeem all his other flaws. She pushes a sheet of paper over the table. “He has to hone the tools he has in his repertoire and maximizing his GOE is the best bet.” Written down are the stats of Dimitri’s jump. His quad toe might be about five centimeters taller than his. About ten centimeters wider, too, maybe. Damnit. “You delay your rotation but overall, your rotation is faster. The time you spend in the air is less.”

It’s the technical controller speaking. Assessing elements as they come. Checking whether a jump was underrotated, if a takeoff used the wrong edge; nothing evades her eyes. No split second of prerotation nor Glenn trying to steal cookies from their hidden cookie jar on top of the shelf in their living room. His father always said she used to be ruthless, downgrading his jumps when he lands exactly a quarter short of full four rotations and deducting points when his step sequence was executed too sloppily.

“She made me a better skater,” he said. “When we made our relationship public it was a near scandal. People said she turned a blind eye to my mistakes, but it only takes a minute to see that I got my worst scores all at the competitions where she was in the panel.” His mother had a very smug grin on her face while her husband reiterated that story.

She always provides him with valuable feedback, points out errors in his jumping technique, how to accelerate the speed of his spin, praises the bend of his knee upon landing a jump. It helps him to focus on what needs improvement and see where his strengths lie. The quality of his technique is in great part a result of her constant guidance.

“Ma... Old man.” Felix looks up, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “I found a song for my free.”

“Oh!” His mother raises a brow, leaning forward over the table to get a glimpse of the title flashing up on the screen. Felix presses the play button.

“That’s-” His father starts, widening his eyes. Nothing comes out of his mouth. What’s wrong with him? Felix glances over to his mother. What’s her-

Her expression is nothing but elation, a bit terrifying to be exact.

“Oh, Felix, this is so cute of you.”

Heh?

He blinks. “Cute?” The piece isn’t cute. It’s a bit sad actually. She’s probably getting old… Sentimental or something.

His father lets his shoulder hang, frowns at Felix’s phone which is still playing the song. “Felix, you have a day off today. Dimitri, too. You should spend it together.”

What? “No, I’ll train.” Finally, he’s having a good day!

“No, you won’t,” his mother says. “I think you and Dimitri should spend time together.”

“No, we don’t need to.”

“You do.” Her voice drops. Her words are final, not allowing any opposition. It’s so annoying when she is certain that she has her son’s best interest in mind even though she’s wrong.

“He should train his salchow.”

“The salchow isn’t important to him.”

Felix shoots a glare at his mother which she returns, unimpressed. Of course the salchow is not important to him. He doesn’t give a damn about the sport. Gave up everything he established in Fhirdiad to run to Colan.

But his parents don’t care. They greeted him in their home with open arms as if he was their own child.

His mother smiles now, soft and so warm. It’s still unfair how Dimitri gave up everything, gave up on him, but he can’t just explode on his mother. Instead, he fixes his gaze on his phone.

His old man clears his throat again.

Right. He’s still there.

“Dimitri is training at the gym. You can go and tell him that you two are off for the rest of the day.”

Typical parents. Completely ignoring their child’s wishes. With a scowl, he pushes himself up from his seat, snaps a ‘Bye’ and leaves. Maybe he should barricade himself in his room; Annette will surely be up for a video chat. Or maybe he’ll go to the woods to scream. That might help with all the frustration everyone induces in him. He shakes his head. None of these will do. If he has nothing better to do, he might as well go to town to get a needle and thread to fix Luna’s eye.

He turns on his heels to stalk off, getting on the bus which is waiting for people who want to drive down the mountain. The bus is empty except for him and the driver. Thank the Goddess. He immediately puts on his headphones once he flops onto a seat. His eyes are drawn outside the window, chin leaning on his hand.

The seat dips next to him. What’s wrong with people not getting the concept of personal space? Why would someone take the seat next to him in an otherwise completely empty bus? He glances over.

It’s fucking Claude.

His eyes jump back to the window, fixing on the trash can outside.

His headphones disappear. Felix whips around to glare at the culprit.

“Funny meeting you here!”

“There’s only this bus to town.” He tries to snatch his headphones back, but Claude won’t let him.

“You usually train at this hour. Run in the woods, right?” He grins. “What are you up to?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow. “Must be really important business if you skip training.”

“It is. How about you mind your own business and give me back my headphones?”

Claude just fixes him with a stare, lips pulled into a disapproving line. “Here I thought we could have some nice conversation. You know?” He throws his headphones back anyways. “From one gold favorite to another.”

There’s only one gold favorite. He grits his teeth. Lashing out is not an option, especially not on rivals. Ashe didn’t deserve it. And Claude… Yeah. Too many scandals already went down in history and that’s not what he wants to be remembered by. “Just stop it.”

He doesn’t. He keeps on rambling when Felix has no way to escape. The bus has set in motion, driving down the mountain, trapping them together for a thirty-minute ride through the supposedly idyllic mountains of Garreg Mach.

Felix doesn’t bother to reply, barely listens when Claude berates him about how his training is not working out. He doesn’t need to act so smug about it and can consider himself lucky that Felix actually has a good day, or his hand would do meaner things than just occasionally tremble.

“Last time I participated at the Olympics… It was horrible.”

Felix tenses. “I know.” Claude barely made the age cut to participate. Back then he was one of the youngest athletes at the whole Games while Felix was still competing on the junior level. The way everything panned out, his way to the podium wasn’t as glorious as he wished.

Claude glances at him from the corner of his eyes. He looks comfortable, the way he leans into his seat not caring about his posture while Felix’s muscles strain. “Do you also know what you agreed to after the Games?”

Of course he does. Ashe and Dedue are on their best way to keep their promise but Felix? His hands ball into fists. Is saying no an option? Pretending he forgot? He averts his gaze. “I remember.”

Claude shifts next to him. “Great! It’s no fun to medal when everyone is having a shit day. I want to win when everyone’s at their best.”

Felix snorts. All the setup to say something this cheesy? This cocky? “I’ll beat you.” Someone has to get him off his high horse.

But Claude smiles a toothy grin, the one which is his trademark, and Felix bites his lip.

“You know what? You should train with Dimitri. He can help you.”

For fuck’s sake. “He can’t even help himself.”

“Nah. That’s not true. He’s in a better shape than you.”

Felix’s fingers drill into the armrest. Whose fault is that? “He doesn’t even care about winning.”

“Is winning everything for you?” Claude grimaces, glancing at his lap. “Do you even enjoy skating?”

“I’m not here for philosophical questions.”

Claude flashes him a weak smile. “Figures.”

He keeps on talking even when they arrive in town. At some point he even brings up the beach and how he can’t wait to visit them in Colan. Apparently, Dimitri has invited him to visit them some time after the Olympics next year and his traitor of an old man happily agreed to host him. There is so much better stuff to do than seeing Claude’s visage after whatever will transpire at the winter games.

Claude drags him to several shops to pick up stuff he needs. A new towel, bandages, a scissor, a light bulb. Felix doesn’t bother to ask why he needs this crap and tries to figure out how he can make a smooth exit instead, though he does grab the needle and thread on the way. By the time they stand at a Srengi food stall chomping on pelmeni – their lunch before they return – it becomes clear he was too naïve.

Claude never intended to let him leave, grabbed his arm and dragged him along like a rag doll. Whenever Felix tried to escape, Claude found a reason for him to stay. At this point Felix’s face strains from constantly scowling.

“I’ll show you around when you come. You, Dedue and Ashe.”

Felix presses his lips together, finishes the dumplings in his mouth. “That’s unnecessary.”

During the ride back Claude luckily remains silent most of the time. Only occasionally, he nudges Felix to show him a post on his social media feed, one about an ice show Cyril is participating at, another one about the song Claude has chosen for his short - ‘Send in the Clowns’ by Sondheim.

“Because I want you to be there!” He winks. He must think he’s really funny here. Lucky him that Felix is having a good day even if the level of goodness has already dropped below the gutter.

When they get off the bus Dimitri stands there, facing the other direction, phone in hand, pressed against his ear. Felix turns on his heel, but Claude grabs his arm.

“Oh, there’s Dimitri!” he says as if he doesn’t exactly know that Felix saw him.

Said man turns around, waves at them and puts away his phone.

“Felix! Claude.” Dimitri walks over and turns to Felix. “I’ve been looking for you. Your mother sent me a message. I… We’re off today. But I see you’re spending time with Claude?”

“Huh? Don’t be ridiculous. We happened to take the same bus. I’m not going to spend more time with him.”

“Ouch.” Claude places a hand over his heart. “You’re lucky Dimitri acts as your PR manager with that mean tongue of yours.”

Dimitri frowns. “PR manager? I wished I had someone who handles my interviews. They always turn out… pitiful.”

“Yeah, the stuff you stammered together at Worlds wasn’t exactly the brightest thing you ever said… But that’s not what I’m talking about. Anyway. I’ll leave you two be.” Claude throws Felix a wink and scrams away.

“I’m also leaving.” Felix raises a hand to wave goodbye-

“Wait!” Dimitri grabs his wrist. Tight.

Felix clicks his tongue. Jerks back and bristles. Glares at Dimitri because the day started well for once, but everyone decided to get on his nerves when all he wants is peace. Just a bit of peace when he finally has chosen his music, finally has something to look forward to in the next season.

“I apologize. It’s just. I’d like to talk.” Dimitri’s face contorts. “About many things.”

 _Many things._ He’s done with talking today, with his parents, with Claude. Talking is exhausting; it’s tiring and it’s difficult.

“We talked enough,” he says. They talked in words and in actions.

“We talked. Yes. But I want to understand.”

Felix looks up into Dimitri’s eyes. A plea in the crease between his brows. The corners of Dimitri’s mouth drop. A pull in his chest.

 _Understanding._ To understand goes beyond the mere exchange of words; it gets to the bottom of the words we choose to express ourselves. Felix’s cheeks warm. It’s too intimate.

“Don’t say such a thing in broad daylight,” he breathes. There’s probably nobody who would pry, nobody who would dare to, but still. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“You’ve been pushing me away the past few moons. I insist we talk today.” Dimitri steps into his space. Too close. “Now to be exact.”

“You have no right.”

“I care about you just as much as Annette and Ashe. Maybe even more.” He shifts. “Please, Felix.”

“Not here!” Heat rushes to his face. The afternoon sun starts to feel hot, stings on his face. His hand traces over his cheek. “I. You. They’re different.”

“How so?”

“They just are!”

Dimitri throws him a look. A glint in his eyes. “This means I am special?”

“How can you say that?” It’s not just the summer heat burning his cheeks. He grabs Dimitri’s arm. “Stop spending time with Claude and Sylvain!”

Dimitri chuckles, covers his mouth with his hand as he does so. “Sure, if I can spend time with you instead? How about we go for a walk?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

This time Dimitri won, but it won’t happen again. They take the path leading into the forest, their steps falling into one rhythm so familiar that Felix nearly trips, nudging at a pebble with the tip of his shoe to keep his feet busy and in an unsteady pace which Dimitri can’t imitate.

The canopy of leaves shades them, preventing the sun from burning down on them. No matter how cool the mountains feel due to the altitude, the milder temperatures are treacherous. The sun is still intense up here, burning him nearly every summer if he isn’t careful.

They pass rocks and caves and some rabbits even scamper by.

It’s hard to tell how much time passes. Time filled with silence instead of the things Dimitri has to say, wanted to say before. Things Felix most likely doesn’t want to talk about, not anymore, not again.

“You’re doing the sal now,” he starts when the silence becomes too bothersome. Thinking about Dimitri always feels a little odd, especially when he is right next to him. Thinking about skating is barely an alternative… when Dimitri was the reason he picked up the sport.

Dimitri offers him a surprised glance, a short look up to the crowns of the trees in thoughts. The sun glitters through the gaps between the leaves, fluttering, shining waves onto Dimitri’s golden hair which falls back, out of his face.

Felix looks away, glances at the moss growing on the right side of the trees when Dimitri’s features become too dazzling. It’s easier to look at plants marking their domain.

“Indeed, Rodrigue suggested working on the quad salchow. I must say, it’s quite some effort to finish four revolutions without the assistance of a toe pick. Edge jumps really don’t feel the most comfortable to me. To be honest, I considered trying a quad lutz instead. Toe jumps just feel so much easier. I know it’s not easy, but Claude has kindly offered-”

Claude again.

They’re just close friends and Claude isn’t a bad person, really isn’t. But still… Why will Dimitri learn from Claude and not from him? Why didn’t he even ask? But when should he have asked? They haven’t seen each other ever since he saw the two of them fooling around together the other day. When he stormed out of the rink and even then… he can’t jump.

“I’ll help you with your sal,” he says.

Dimitri looks at him. In a way which Felix doesn’t quite understand. Probably irritated that Felix’s words don’t connect to his, draw a new line from where he wants to start, but Dimitri never shows irritation or anger or upset, always taking a step back. He smiles and thanks him when Felix deserves no gratitude.

A stone sits in his stomach, deep and heavy, trying to pull him down. It has been sitting there ever since Worlds; every time he sits in his room, watching his free skate. Heavier when he watches Dimitri’s. It’s the reason he cannot defy gravity. The reason his jumps turn into falls.

“Are you afraid of falling?”

Felix turns to him, eyes wide because he didn’t expect this question. “No,” he says, shakier than he wants. Dimitri doesn’t look at him, he still looks up to the crowns of the trees. His eyes are soft.

“Falling scares me.” A whimsical smile draws Dimitri’s lips. “It scares me a lot.”

“I know.” Felix says, Dimitri has told him before. “It shouldn’t.”

Falling is part of skating. Over time the pain grows dull.

“I hate to see you fall,” Dimitri says.

“Is that it?” Felix shifts. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Dimitri is a fool. Everyone falls. Him, Dimitri, Claude, Marianne. They all fall and stand up again.

“Yes. It is.” It really shouldn’t be. “I wanted to apologize about the other day, too. It wasn’t considerate. Claude and I will both be more cautious”

“You-” Felix looks up again, clenching his jaw. “Stop being such a people pleaser! I hate it. Do whatever you want.” Heat coils in his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Dimitri turns away. His shoulders are hunched. He makes himself smaller than he is. “It’s just. I didn’t want to see Claude fall and… I don’t want to see you fall either.”

“Just don’t watch me skate then.”

“That- That’s hardly what I mean!”

Felix snorts. Of course it isn’t. But what else can he do? “You can’t land my jumps for me. When I’m on the ice, I’m alone. We’re all alone. Before you worry about me, worry about yourself.” He gives Dimitri a glance and really tries not to glare. “That’s all you can do.”

Dimitri doesn’t answer, rather follows the faint trail through the thicket which starts to clear. There’s not much he can retort with. It’s the truth of single skating. Everyone is on their own when they step onto the ice.

Maybe that was all Dimitri had to say; maybe this was enough. Maybe he can turn around and leave.

A pond lies at the end of the trail, glittering with the late afternoon sun shining through the greenery. It’s a befitting end to their little walk, a little highlight to the repetitive sight of trees and stones and moss.

“Cool.” He kicks a pebble into the pond. A plop. “Let’s head back.”

“No.” Dimitri’s hand holds onto Felix’s wrist. He waves at the stones beside the pond. “Let’s… let’s stay here.”

“No.”

“Let’s skate together.”

The world comes to a standstill, quiets down while Felix’s heart thunders in his ears. Not even his breath which he holds dares to disturb the silence. Slowly, he raises his gaze to meet Dimitri’s.

When was the last time he saw him, really saw him? The specks of light falling through the leaves onto his cheekbones. The dimples which form with just the slightest smile.

His chest warms and his heart skips.

A familiar beat, a trusted rhythm. His fingertips against his pulse, gracing his birthmark.

With all the sincerity Felix doesn’t deserve, Dimitri looks at him. Strokes with his thumb over the back of Felix’s hand.

 _We don’t fall forever._ Every fall ends.

Dimitri steps closer, and Felix lets him.

“I won’t let you fall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, there are two things I love: dimilix & figure skating. Bringing these two things together makes me feel so happy ;; Hope you enjoyed it, too.


	2. Catching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first draft of this chapter was betad by Cy ([@possiblevoid](https://twitter.com/possiblevoid)). Thank you so much for the pointers!  
> The final draft was betad by Lauren ([@mahiruhiiragis](https://twitter.com/mahiruhiiragis)). It was an immense help. Thank you c:
> 
> Enjoy!

In Faerghus, a country smitten with the cold, ice and snow, winter sports were interlaced with their way of life. Little children joined their parents engrossed in hockey matches, stickers of the coolest snowboarders were exchanged on playgrounds at schools, middle school classes went to nearby ski slopes for their P.E. classes and once in high school, puberty-stricken students asked out their dates to join them for a skate on the frozen lakes or rivers, skating away the day beneath the sky.

Winter sports were a big thing in Faerghus and Dimitri, too, was not immune to their charms. Before he could walk, he was already on the ice. A rope snugly slung around his and Felix’s waist, sitting on their little butts, Glenn would pull them over the ice, all three laughing hysterically while Rodrigue screamed in the distance.

There was even photo evidence and Glenn still wistfully remembered the time when he and Felix were “snot-nosed brats who would happily eat out of his hands”.

Dimitri, too, remembered.

Felix didn’t, or so he claimed.

After their parents got sick of constantly buying them new pants, they taught them how to skate properly. On their feet. Not on their maltreated butts. It was an economic decision, completely innocent at first. Skating was a convenient skill for every Faerghun, a favorite pastime for most of them, but with their parents being Olympic champions, their dream of skating together on Olympic ice wasn’t far-fetched.

It was all the more baffling to hear Uncle Rodrigue’s voice drifting through the thick mahogany door of the living room one night.

“I… always felt reluctant…” he said with a muffled voice. Dimitri wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop but to lie in bed and sleep like all well-behaved little children should, but Uncle Rodrigue’s somber tone who usually always carried a gentle smile and an open ear for Dimitri’s worries drew him to the door. He should go back to Felix’s side; they still planned to sneak out the next morning and need to get up early but something… felt off. “I was always reluctant to send them through the same grueling training we did… I love skating, and I want Felix to love it, too… It’s so different with a child. Yes, I wanted an Olympic gold for myself, but I don’t want my child to suffer the way we did.” His voice trailed off.

“I want Felix to be happy.”

Dimitri leaned back from the door. Wasn’t Felix happy? Felix loved skating as much as him. Was there something Dimitri didn’t know? Something he missed?

He yawned. Well… It was too late to understand what the adults were talking about – he barely understood his father’s low grumbling through the door anyway – and before they caught him, he should head back to Felix’s room. Crawl up the stairs and tiptoe back under the warm blanket. So, he tightened his grip around his glass of water and darted for the stairs. Tip-tap, tip-tap-

“Eh, you little brats are still up?”

Dimitri whirled around. Glenn peeked out of his room.

“I- I was thirsty.”

“Huh. Don’t drink too much. You’ll pee your pants.”

“Glenn!” Dimitri flushed. Why was he so mean!

But Glenn just snickered. “Kidding. Take a carafe next time. Sleep well.” He waved goodbye and closed his door, leaving Dimitri alone in the hallway. For some reason he always popped in and out of thin air as he pleased. Dimitri grimaced.

He opened the door to Felix’s room and snuck back under his blanket. His friend immediately turned around and tucked the blanket closer around them.

“Why did it take you so long?” His voice was bleary. Already tired because Dimitri wasted so much time…

“Mh… I talked to Glenn.”

“Hmm.” Felix yawned. “He’ll… We’ll…” he murmured before he dozed off, his breathing fading into a slow-paced rhythm.

He looked peaceful like this. The dim shine of the moon on his face, a content smile on his lips, he was happy. Whatever Uncle Rodrigue meant, Felix was happy and that was all that mattered.

It was too early to understand. Because understanding was difficult, and actions and experience would be their teachers on their long path to figure skating greatness.

***

During his junior year Dimitri was a lanky boy, all long limbs flailing in the wind. Puberty graced his face with pimples and a growth spurt so painful he sometimes could barely walk up the stairs to his room. But even so it was clear he would take after his father.

His vertical jump from a standing start reached 53.2cm on his good days while Felix reached 46.7cm on his best day, and if his father’s stature was anything to go by, more muscle weight was awaiting him. His power was explosive and launched him across the ice faster and further than the average skater his age.

Though the downside was that his flexibility suffered. Even a spread eagle – feet facing away from each other in one line and straightening his legs – required him to stand against a wall for hours to ingrain this position into his hips. It was one of the simplest transitions, but it still felt unnatural in his groin. A split was not something he planned to acquire. Ever.

Felix on the other hand mastered spins which required high flexibility early on. His ballet classes truly paid off and even the reporters said he was ‘born for the sport’, all graceful lines creating nothing short of poetry on the ice.

Felix was beloved, a ray of hope for Faerghun men’s single skating long before he reached the senior circuit. Reporters swooned when he brought his Luna tissue box to the rink, the cute black cat with the crescent moon on her forehead, guarded by Rodrigue who took care of her while Felix took the ice. He always gave his all, evident in his deep edges, the intricacy of his steps. No one looked more beautiful; no one was more charming. Felix told stories on the ice which no one else could tell.

Though Felix trained in Colan, far away from Fhirdiad – admittedly a four-hour train ride wasn’t too bad, but as children who lived under their parents’ roof four hours were quite significant. To put it simply: he couldn’t see him often enough. But Dimitri’s own rink mates in Fhirdiad weren’t to be underestimated either.

Sylvain and Dimitri were similar in many ways, both more bulky than graceful, more powerful than gentle.

So different from Ingrid and Marianne who filled their programs with grace. When Marianne took the ice, she was nothing but beautiful. However, the beauty of the way she swayed her arms, the way she extended her leg, couldn’t hide the power she carried in her body.

To land a jump meant to dissipate the power of up to ten times one’s body weight in the split of a second by landing on one foot, and she did just that with a soft bend of her knee and a smile on her face. Her knee stability was outstanding considering her age. Needless to say, she was far more graceful than Dimitri could ever hope to be. Even her little finger craned more delicately than Dimitri’s. Her artistry was in the subtlety of her facial expressions in line with the music and the memorization of every choreographic detail up to the position of her pointed toe.

Though, figure skating was so much more than graceful movements timed to the cues of music. It was a sport which needed power and strength, and wielding strength always possessed its danger. Only in the moment a mistake unfurled, a wrong step, a wrong tilt of the body in the air. It only needed one moment for the perfection to crack so that the naked truth of the sport pierced through the shiny façade.

Like in the moment Marianne crashed onto the unyielding ice.

“Marianne! I- I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Dimitri reached a hand out to Marianne who clasped her knee, eyes screwed shut, breathing erratic. She didn’t even notice his hand and for a moment Dimitri wasn’t sure she noticed him at all, but then she opened her eyes– her body swayed, and Dimitri fell to his knees to catch her.

“I’m okay,” she said when she was clearly not. She still pressed her lips together, trying to will away the pain she must have felt. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t worry about me.”

“No, let’s…” Let’s what? What would be the right thing to do? Their coaches weren’t present, and she fell. He took a deep breath. _Calm down._ He slung his arm around her. “Let’s take care of this. I know where the medical kit is, and then we should go to a physician.”

He tried to help her stand up but her knee caved several times. The pain rendered her silent except for whimpers she couldn’t contain.

She shouldn’t have to go through this pain. She shouldn’t suffer like this! It would have been better if he had fallen…

He lifted her up to carry her. She was too weightless in his arms, or rather he was too strong, too easy to lose control.

“I’m sorry.” Her face was red, brows drawn together as she closed her eyes again. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“What are you saying?” How could she say that when _she_ got injured? When it wasn’t even her fault? “You could never be a burden.”

She didn’t answer him even if he wished she accepted this fact. Instead, she buried her face in his shoulder. She felt the shame for something she had no power over; for battling a lost jump alone.

Falls and injuries like these were part of the daily routine. The audience didn’t see which forces pulled at a skater’s limbs; they didn’t see the hours of practice which turned into weeks which turned into years. The sweat, the bruises and the tears were hidden beneath the splendor. All they saw were the 6 minutes and 40 seconds in dazzling costumes accompanied by intricate tunes with faces masked by layers of rouge.

But Dimitri saw it. He saw all of it.

And he hated it.

***

With time Dimitri came to understand what Rodrigue meant that night – or at least had a hunch. Maybe Rodrigue already could tell that his youngest would grow up to be a stubborn teenager based on his tendencies to whine when things didn’t go his way, for instance when Dimitri needed to leave with his parents when their visits in Colan came to an end.

His stubbornness translated into persistence in his training. Whenever they visited each other Felix had new skills to show him, improvements on his spins, a new transition.

Though most importantly he had to extend his technical repertoire. People like Dedue or Claude were ahead of him with quads while Felix still only jumped triples. However, this was a challenge he was willing to accept.

He jumped on the ground, jumped on the ice…

And he fell.

Fell uncountable times, fell more often than his mother could apply bandages, fell harder than his body wanted to take.

But he stood up again, tried again, tried and tried and jumped and Dimitri could hardly watch how much pain he inflicted on himself. It hurt him. It hurt Dimitri to watch Felix fall, to hear his wince, to see him stagger from nausea. He wanted to land his jumps for him, to catch him but instead he winced when Felix winced; he whined when Felix whined. If he had a mirror, he could probably see the same crumpled expression on his own face.

But even then, Felix’s tenacity carried him on, spurred him to greater heights.

The moment Felix landed his first quadruple jump, finishing all four revolutions in the air, Dimitri’s muscles were screaming. His ankle ached from watching, but it all paled against the roar in Felix’s heart, the ecstasy on his face. His arms shook in triumph; he cried in victory.

“I did it!” he shouted.

“You did it!” Dimitri cheered.

“That was sick!” Sylvain exclaimed next to him. “Can you do that again? I forgot to press record!”

Felix halted in his celebration to look at Sylvain as if he had grown a second head, hand balling into a fist.

“Run,” Dimitri whispered to Sylvain and he laughed despite the shaking in his own legs.

***

Falls were always hard to stomach for Dimitri, both in practice and competition. Figure skater’s feet were covered with bruises, caged in tight boots to aid their stability in jumps.

In the evenings at 8:45pm he’d call Felix to inquire about his day, ask him about his progress and Felix’s voice would ring through the phone – a firm and sure voice after it broke through puberty, soothing to listen to when Dimitri struggled through his practice. He always had a story to tell, about his own progress, about his rink mates, sometimes about Zoltan or his parents.

“Glenn already started packing for Dagda…” Felix’s voice suddenly sounded distant. He had always been fond of his brother; it wasn’t easy for him that Glenn decided to pursue his master’s degree in Dagda. The last time Dimitri saw Felix, he wasn’t talking much, not even to him – likely because of that.

“You’ll still see him.” Dimitri looked out of the window. It was raining in Fhirdiad. “For competitions. You were assigned to the Cup of Khingai. And Worlds in two years will be there, too.”

It wasn’t a good consolation, and Felix didn’t answer right away. Hopefully it wasn’t the wrong thing to say...

“We were assigned to different qualifiers.” Felix changed the subject. “How has your training been?”

Dimitri pressed his lips together. Ingrid sustained an injury recently. The last time he checked her in the hospital she was pretty sure it wouldn’t heal for the Junior Grand Prix season; she had just stared at her foot trapped in a thick cast.

“Be strong Ingy!” was written in a gaudy orange tone on it, together with a little sketch of Sylvain sticking out his tongue.

Ingrid just deadpanned. “It glows in the dark.”

It’s a good thing that the two of them were doing fine mentally. Sylvain often visited and brought her favorite meals which she gladly indulged in since the JGP season wasn’t feasible anymore.

To take a fall physically was one thing. With proper treatment and care, wounds can heal – not all of them… but many. To mentally overcome a fall was harder. The sight of distorted faces and twisted limbs always made Dimitri wince.

“It’s… been going well,” he finally replied. “Though… I am too strong…”

“You take after your father. It’s not a bad thing… You should use it to your advantage.”

That was easier said than done. It was what everyone expected of him – the reason why the media lauded him even though the power was so scary.

“You’re right,” he said in the end, and their conversation ended soon after.

Winning gold in the qualifiers and finally the Junior Grand Prix Final, the start of the season was a tremendous success. For a grand finale to his junior career only Junior Worlds was left. So, his team flew to Kupala three moons later and there he stood on the ice during practice. Six skaters stepped onto the ice, marking the trajectory of their routines on the surface. There was pressure, sure. The other skaters carried confident smiles on their lips. Nobody was here to give their competition an easy time. Just one more gold to end the season.

He strode backwards, tensing his muscles, lifted a leg. His toe struck the ice and he turned and-

Marianne flew through the air. Her dress fluttered like wings of a fairy. She was like a cloud gliding and gliding, covering one meter after another, never touching the ground. Far and further and- _too far_!

Dorothea screamed and everything went silent and still. All eyes on her, on Marianne, and everyone watched, and nobody moved.

Her body writhed. Her eyes glistened. Dimitri took one step.

When he placed a hand against her back which shook from tears and pain, he knew:

He couldn’t continue pair skating.

***

It was a logical decision for Dimitri to go into pair skating following his parents’ footsteps while Felix took on single skating like his father did. It was the best decision to realize their dream as Dimitri liked the steadiness of male pair skaters being the base for their partners to shine whereas Felix loved the challenge difficult elements posed which he could easier excel in in single skating.

He started to train under the same coach as his parents and it didn’t take long till he found a partner in Marianne.

They competed as novices and moved on to juniors. Their relationship was very professional as she was diligent and determined. After all, they had to pay a considerable amount of fees to be coached and nobody wanted to waste this money. Their efforts bore fruit, as their throws were wide, their lifts were stable and when he twisted her, she flew up into the air like a bird till he caught her and placed her back on the ice. Though training wasn’t everything, they did occasionally spend time together outside the rink. As a Fhirdiad local it was quite enjoyable to show Marianne and also Ingrid and Sylvain nice places to eat Duscurian cuisine or simply walk in the old town.

“Why did you pick up pair skating?” Dimitri asked one day. They were walking in the castle gardens where many people were jogging past them or taking a walk just like them. A fountain adorned with vines and flowers burbled in front of the castle as they strode down the sandy path, discussing the past season and their path ahead.

“Hm…” She clasped her hands together, interlacing her fingers into each other. She gave it a bit of thought before she mustered an answer. “There is something about it… The way two people connect and wordlessly exchange their thoughts.” She looked up to him. “When I was five, I watched the World Championships in Brigid on TV… We watched it live, my father and I…” A fond smile curled her lips. “It was very exciting to see who would win. Many great pair skaters were there, including your parents.”

Dimitri smiled, too. “Yes, they were.” It was their last competition. Back then he sat in the audience with Felix and his parents, watching his own parents take the ice. Even after winning the Olympic gold they continued to skate. Even after Dimitri was born. “They placed third at that event.”

She nodded. “Yes, yes they did…” Her gaze wandered up to the sky. “Your parents were mesmerizing during the competition but… what truly pulled me in… was Tiana and Jahan’s skate.” Her face brightened at the memories. “Claude’s parents were a wonderful pair.”

Their skate was indeed enchanting. Sitting in the audience it was like watching a story unfold. It was as if invisible threads stringed their eyes to the movements on the ice. Dimitri couldn’t remember how, but long before their program ended Felix stood there clapping his hands and with him thousands of people rose and drowned their music out with thundering claps and ardent cheer. And with the mounting rapture, Tiana and Jahan’s skate burst like a firework as they relished in the final moments of their career.

“I was able to see it.” Marianne came to a halt, offering her hand for him to hold. “They held each other’s hands.”

Dimitri took hers.

“They looked each other in the eye.”

Dimitri looked into hers, open, holding his gaze. Determination in the sunlight she captured in her eyes.

“And they both knew she was going to land the throw; they were going to win.”

She squeezed his hand, and he knew Marianne was born to win.

She was born to stand in the light with a partner who will give her the same trust, the same understanding and the same wordless communication Tiana and Jahan had.

And Dimitri wouldn’t be this partner.

***

“I will quit pair skating.”

Marianne looked at him.

The season already passed. Their last junior season together with the Olympic Games. Ingrid was back on her feet; she left for a vacation with Sylvain before they prepared for their first senior season while Marianne…

She walked next to him. Hands on her crutches, she tilts her head, frowning slightly but waiting.

“I’m so sorry.” He averted his gaze. “You deserve a better partner than me. Someone who will allow you to truly shine. Someone who won’t hurt you.”

“You…” She drew her brows further together. “These injuries… are not your fault.”

“They are.”

“They aren’t. Please… don’t blame yourself.” She swayed. “You know why I skate. I trust you, and any mistake we make is both our faults; not yours alone… Skating was my choice. It’s what I truly wanted, and it comes with a cost I was willing to pay.” The look she gave him was firm, certain.

She knew why she was here, why she had to go through the pain and would continue to. She was so much stronger than Dimitri, so much braver whenever she stepped onto the ice.

“I… can’t pay this price.” The injuries were too much. The pain he inflicted when he let go of his partner in the wrong moment wasn’t something he could be responsible for anymore. It was so selfish to end their eight years of partnership just because he was too weak to carry on. How could he-?

Her crutch fell to the ground.

She took his hand, warm and comforting. When he looked up at her, she tried to smile but she could only try.

“You are very kind.”

No. His eyes burnt.

There was only one appropriate answer.

“I’m a coward.”

He was running. He knew he was running away from his potential, from what he had achieved, from everything that made up the past eight years. He was running and letting so many people down on the way but running was better than falling. So much better than thrusting a partner into the air for them to deal with the landing alone.

Marianne carried on. Sylvain and Ingrid accepted it. His parents respected his decision. And Rodrigue listened. He listened and he understood because he knew the pain that the sport could bring. He spoke of his own struggles and shared about the dark hours after he finally held an Olympic gold in his hand. Decades of sacrifices for one moment in the light and then it was over in the blink of an eye. Was the pain worth it? It was difficult to tell…

“You have to do better than me,” he said. A pause between them. “Both of you.” Dimitri was able to hear the heavy sigh through the phone. “Felix… How should I say this? I wished he was as open-minded as you. Entering the senior circuit made him work even harder… Way too hard.” Another pause. “He won’t listen to his mother or me.”

Dimitri could imagine that. Could envision the hardened lines of his face, the fire in his eyes. “He said he had a call with Claude… about the Games. They promised to meet there… at the next ones in Almyra.”

Rodrigue sighed again. “The Games were not ideal but putting on pressure for the next one won’t make them better. Some things are not a matter of will.”

Indeed. Pressure would weigh him down. Dimitri shifted in his stance. Now that he quit pair skating, Felix would have one promise less to worry about. Maybe… just maybe he could even support Felix on his path to the Olympics. He tightened his grip around the phone. “Uncle Rodrigue, I… have a favor to ask.”

A brief silence. “Please, what is it?”

This was perhaps brazen to ask, though, it was a way forward. “Would you… would you allow me to train under your guidance? For single skating.”

***

Felix and Dimitri were four when they made a promise. In retrospect it was more of a foolish childhoods dream – far from anything anyone could be held accountable for, but even then, they held onto it.

One evening they sat next to each other with their knees pressed together. Zoltan, back then a baby kitten, lay curled in Felix’s lap, purring while the two of them balled their hands into little fists. Their eyes shone as they watched Alisa and Lambert’s Olympic skate, both leaning forward as if the TV could absorb them and send them right into the stadium when it happened.

His parents raced on the ice, chasing dizzying paces. The elements blurred into one smooth motion; one minute his mother was thrown meters above the ice, the next she gracefully arched her back as she was pulled into a spin above the ground.

Back then they couldn’t name any of the elements. They couldn’t tell when one started and where one ended; they couldn’t tell what was happening at all, to be fair. Though, one thing they could see; one thing everyone could see: that day Alisa was a queen, and Lambert was a king. Their movements generated power and were a force pulling the whole crowd in; everyone stared at the couple with wide eyes and open mouths, stunned into silence as they helplessly watched because that was all they could do.

It would have been nice to be there in the stadium when the magic happened. They could only watch the recording now but even in the flickering light of their TV screen they held their breath as time seemed to stop.

“We’ll skate together like this!” Felix said, a glimmer in his eyes.

Dimitri nodded back then. “Exactly like this!” he said, taking his friend’s hand. “You and I. We will skate together at the Olympics. Just like my parents.”

Felix blinked at him, blushed prettily. “Really?” He darted away, tapped at the birthmark on his neck.

“Yes. I promise!”

They promised.

He couldn’t help but smile at Felix. “I will throw you and catch you and we will skate together like my parents did.”

Zoltan stretched next to them, meowed at their childish promise.

Zoltan got older. She wasn’t the wild baby cat she used to be anymore. Nowadays, she loved to linger on the windowsill, drinking in the sparse sunshine Faerghus had to offer.

***

It was 8:45pm again.

Dimitri typed in the number he knew by heart into the phone. He and Rodrigue had sorted out everything. His parents were glad that he decided on a new path and… in order to be near Felix, to be with him… He took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

“Dimitri!” Felix’s voice rang warm and bright. Dimitri couldn’t help but smile, listening to his name being said in such a way.

“Felix, how are you?” He shifted. Was it right to tell him over the phone? No, he had practiced this. He had to tell him tonight. He nodded to himself.

“I’m good… I’m getting used to Glenn not being around… And you?” There were steps on his end. A click of a door. He probably walked over to his room. To a more private place which was good.

“I’m glad you’re well. I am, too.” He licked over his lips, oddly dry while his grip on the phone was clammy. He should ask about Glenn, but he shouldn’t drag this out too long; Felix had to know what was going on. “Felix,” he said, “there is something I need to tell you.” He leaned against the wall for support.

“What is it?” Worry mixed into his words. It was kind of him to care. Kind in a way which twisted in Dimitri’s chest.

He took another deep breath. “I will quit pair skating.”

He didn’t answer. It- it was sudden after all. When the silence stretched, he continued, “Felix, I have hurt you; I have hurt Marianne and I don’t want to hurt you ever again.” His grip around the phone tightened. It was the right thing to do. “I will switch to singles, to your father! We can still skate together, just differently.”

There would be no more throws. He wouldn’t lift Felix anymore and wouldn’t twist him into the air. Felix didn’t belong more than two meters above the ground; he belonged on the ice where he was safe. This was right.

And more importantly… “We can be together all the time!” No more four-hour train rides parting them. They could be together. They could be like normal teens. His cheeks warmed. He’d tell him how he felt once he was there. He’d look him into the eye and let him know. “We can skate together; we can go to the beach anytime!” It would be so lovely. “We can-”

“What are you talking about?”

Dimitri halted, a sudden breathlessness. “Felix, I-”

“We promised” – Felix’s voice was hoarse, distant as if he was far away. So different from his beautiful voice before. – “to skate together. I will always land, and you will always catch me; that’s what we agreed upon.”

 _We did._ “We did before I hurt you!” He had to understand. “Felix, please…”

“Dimitri, you- You said-” He swallowed. “You said we would skate together like your parents at the Olympics. It is what _you_ said, and you’re going back on your words.”

No. He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor. “I said that as a child…”

“You don’t trust me.” Felix’s voice cracked. “You gave up on me.”

It wasn’t him who Dimitri gave up on. It could never be.

Two weeks later they stood there at the tracks in Colan, Dimitri with his luggage, his hands gripping the handles. The ride was long. Four hours felt like four decades. And right there at the tracks his heart wilted under Felix’s gaze.

His eyes were blazing, like the sun which glowed on the reddened leaves.

“You don’t belong here.”

That was all he said before he turned around to leave. Nothing more, nothing less.

***

“Something’s been on your mind.” Felix pulled his legs to his chest. They crawled out of the windows of the sky parlor above Glenn and Felix’s rooms - two 14-year-olds sitting on a roof, listening to the rolling waves of the ocean. It was like in those movies which he knew Felix wasn’t fond of – teenagers confined to their families’ realm being sad and trying to find comfort in the stars. Compared to Fhirdiad far less light polluted the night sky in the suburbs of Colan; the stars were sprinkled all over the dark vastness, reaching the water in the distance.

Dimitri didn’t reply. Instead, he glanced over to Felix, to Felix’s ankle which he still sometimes rubbed, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps on purpose because it hurt. It was Dimitri’s fault that it hurt.

Felix shifted to lean against him, back-to-back, not pressing any further which was kind of him.

“Does your ankle still hurt?” Dimitri then asked.

“It does.” He moved behind him. “So, what?”

So, what… Dimitri huffed. Turned around to look at him because this wasn’t something he should take lightly. “I hurt you.”

“No.” He looked over his shoulder, right at Dimitri. His face was so close, glasses framed his eyes. “I will always land your throws.” His gaze turned soft. “And you will always catch me.”

It wasn’t this easy…

Though Felix cocked a brow, lifted the corner of his lip and he said: “If we fall, we pick each other up again.” His hand darted out to grasp for his sleeve. “Because I trust you.”

***

Felix was right. It was too naïve to believe switching to single skating would help with anything. All he wanted was to be near him. To be with Felix, skate together, spend time together, maybe even… Well, it wasn’t important anymore. His relationship with Felix suffered as much as his skating career. Even without aiming for the top, he was slow on the ice and lacking in his jumps. Coming from pair skating he had way too much muscle weight in his arms and was only accustomed to doing two jumps on his own. Before, he used to fling Marianne around, and she would land the jumps. Now he suddenly had to land five more jumps on his own and each one wrung the air out of his lungs so that at the end of the day he couldn’t wait to go home and shower and throw himself on his bed and hope the next day would be better.

It never was.

The first season he spent with Rodrigue passed with him entering two second tier competitions… and racking abysmally low scores in both. From one of the most promising upcoming pair skaters to the laughingstock of the nation – that was his story.

Dedue whom he befriended during practice encouraged him that at some point the training would yield fruits. He was optimistic on Dimitri’s behalf because Dimitri for sure didn’t see a rosy future for his scores.

Felix didn’t even spare him a second glance when he came back from the competitions, going straight for his father to discuss his own training. As much as Felix’s parents cared for him, Felix tried his best to ignore his presence. He avoided talking to him, wouldn’t even look him into the eye. When they stood in the hallway at the same time, Felix would just grace him with a snide remark in passing.

“What”– Glenn frowned through the screen of his laptop –“were you exactly trying to achieve?”

Glenn had a knack for asking the right question.

Dimitri had a knack for having no clue about what he was doing – at least not anymore. He could only hope it wasn’t too evident.

“You and I.” Claude punched Dimitri’s upper arm, shooting him a grin. “We could be great together!”

“I have my doubts.” Dimitri sighed. Claude had been bothering him throughout the whole event. It was his second season as a single skater, and it had to be a tragic mistake that he got assigned to Skate Adrestia. His name graced the last spot in the result table and not without a remarkable point margin – it was disgraceful. And here he stood next to the winner of the event before the Heroes Arena on Gronder Field. It was odd that Claude kept pestering him; especially when he asked him to lift him during practice. Considering his parents’ career, he should be well aware how dangerous it was.

“Claude, please. I stopped skating pairs for a reason.”

Though, Claude just kept smiling at him as if he ate wisdom for breakfast. “I know why you stopped pairs.” He clasped his hands together. “Marianne and I are friends. She might act tough in front of you, but she wasn’t exactly happy you gave up on her.”

“I-” How-? “I didn’t give up on her.”

“You gave up on yourself.”

Dimitri brought a hand to his chest, grasping at his shirt. Claude should understand. He should understand what it was like to see your partner fall. But what was he supposed to expect? He averted his gaze. Everyone knew what Claude last season did; how irresponsible he acted at Worlds. “You wouldn’t understand.” His voice was ice in his own ears. “You’re reckless-”

“ _You_ don’t understand.” Claude grasped for his sleeve. Dimitri halted. “Everyone can see, you don’t belong here. Your skate is mediocre and boring. I feel _nothing_ looking at it. You can do better, I have seen you skate better, way better.” His eyes bore into his, not giving in. “What are you doing here?”

What was he doing here?

Claude kept smiling at him, though, his smile turned wry. “What’s the point in doing this if you don’t have fun?”

Was it fun? The reason he switched to singles; the reason he was here. Felix didn’t want him to be here, didn’t want him to skate at his rink. What right did he have to stay?

“Let me show you.” Claude pulled his arm. Pulled his whole body along with him back to the arena where he hours ago gasped from exertion, where his hot sweat dripped down onto the ice.

He wanted to dig his heels into the ground to stay but Claude’s grip was iron.

They entered the stands, a sea of flags and banners before them. Dimitri darted around, hand gripping the railing. Whose turn-?

The buzz of the speakers. “Our next skaters. Representing the Leicester Alliance.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened at the sight of _her_.

“Marianne Edmund and Holst Goneril.”

The music set in, one chord after another. Slow but steady they eased into their program, guided the audience into their choreography before they took flight. She flew into the air with her arms aloft, dived into a death spiral next. When Holst lifted her, she rose like a bird into the sky. Her arms told stories; her face was radiant.

_She was well._

He exhaled a breath. He knew she had a new partner. Of course she did. But so far, he had no chance to see her at competitions. They still often called but to actually see her skate… This was how she was supposed to skate, beautiful and graceful and most of all _safe_.

Her landings were smooth, her movements stable. They moved in unison like two birds of a flock on their journey to a brighter place.

They were beautiful. And he loved to see her face shine so bright. His hands tightened their grip around the railing. Once being together was so easy… It just took a word, and they were strolling through the streets of Fhirdiad, walking with ice cones in hand, walking with laughter filling the air between them. There were those times when a walk at the beach of Colan meant hours of dissecting routines of a recent competition. When home was not a house but a person at his side, leaning against each other with eyes glued to the TV.

Marianne found her home. But how can he rebuild his with Felix?

***

It was probably during the summer camp when they were 15 years old. When Felix grew tired of the crowd in the late afternoon and asked Dimitri to leave the camp with him. They left without so much as a word, escaping into the forest with a bag containing water and snacks.

Their conversation was ceaseless, about skating, about people. Felix talked about his favorite games which were often Glenn’s favorite games. He didn’t seem to notice how much he shared in common with his brother and honestly it was charming how he loved to point out differences when Felix collected habits. His perceptiveness allowed him to pick up on details about others. So, Felix knew Dimitri’s favorite book which stood in his bookshelf and he knew Dimitri’s favorite kind of cheese which he often picked himself.

“We are collections of the people we love,” Glenn had told him when he asked him why Felix had the same habit of grazing his birthmark. “We build little homes in our hearts for them.”

The notion was quite lovely. Maybe he, too, had a place in Felix’s heart filled with little aspects about himself which were tended to by Felix’s warmth. Wouldn’t that be nice? He glimpsed at Felix while he tried to convince him of playing the game, detailing which aspects Dimitri would enjoy; the lore he’d appreciate. His hands gestured vividly, emphasizing the points he knew Dimitri would like. Characters Dimitri could enjoy, a playstyle which was easy for Dimitri to handle. He threw him quick flashes of little smiles, speckled over his explanation of the game. Even if the game wasn’t his taste at all, he’d try. For Felix’s sake there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do.

They kept walking and talking until they found a meadow where they sat down in the grass. Crickets sung for them while the sky blushed a beautiful pink until it faded into a deep cobalt. If it wasn’t for the fireflies which emerged from the darkness only the stars would have lit their faces.

The slight purse of his lips, the glimmer in his eyes reflecting the glow of the fireflies. For some reason Felix wasn’t talking anymore and for some reason Dimitri had stopped talking, too. And if it wasn’t for the one pimple on Felix’s right cheek, he might not have even noticed how his hand was suddenly grazing warm skin, how close Felix’s face was to his own and how slow his breathing had become. Every single lash seemed to kiss his cheek and Dimitri neither knew where this thought came from nor where it would lead to, but he thought to himself: _I want to kiss him, too_.

“Is something on my face?” Felix asked back then, averting his gaze.

Dimitri started, pulling away his hand, shaking his head to shake away these insidious thoughts. “I’m sorry, no. It- I thought there was a firefly in your hair.”

Felix frowned but let him be, picking up another topic, about the Olympics next year.

The thoughts didn’t leave him, however. Didn’t even leave when Rodrigue found them in the dark, flashlight blaring at their faces, reprimanding them for staying out so late.

They didn’t leave and maybe it was then that Dimitri had to sit down with himself and think and understand and acknowledge what Felix meant to him. Maybe it was then he knew Felix had a home in his heart.

***

Claude was an unconventional partner. Where Marianne was like a flower which needed the sun to allow her to bloom, Claude was the sun himself, radiating energy and difficult to reign in. He had a mind of his own, thought ahead, took turns and coiled. He was like a deer, difficult to catch, evasive in his skate, but even so, he spent time with him and trained with him.

Dimitri was an outsider in the field, an abnormality, as was Claude – or so he considered himself, carrying the hopes of a nation which was never considered to bring out excellent skaters. In retrospect that might have been the reason he took interest in him, bothered to spend time with him, skated with him. Was willing to be his friend.

“Do you remember your last Junior GPF? With Marianne?” Claude asked one day. “Did you see that snapshot of the moment before your throw triple flip?”

That throw…

Dimitri turned towards Claude. His last GPF before he quit pairs.

He was holding Marianne’s hand as they glided down the length of the rink. She gripped his hand, looked him in the eyes. She left him with no room for hesitation.

“Just from the look of her eyes, I knew she was going to land the jump.” Her grip was tight. All her trust flowed into him.

“Yes, the photographer caught this moment beautifully. It’s what I love about pairs, you know? The commitment. The trust.” He offered him a smile. “This moment they look each other into the eye.”

The moment they silently told each other: _Yes_.

Tell each other: _We’re ready. We can do this. We will succeed._

When they took two strides, twizzled and lunged. When they turned and glided and took each other’s hands, bridged the gap between their eyes with a stare so intense that sound became silence and vision became white and their hands let go. He grabbed for the hip, a pick of their toe and-

“I threw Felix.”

“Huh?” Claude spun around; brows drawn together. “When? Which one?”

“The…”

“Cactus?”

“… I mean.” Dimitri frowned. “He might be a bit prickly now, but he is still a good person.” Claude and Felix used to get along, too, after all.

“Uhm… Yeah. I don’t care, really.” His face soured. Though, he leaned in the next moment, narrowing his eyes. “But this smells like gossip. What do you mean, you threw him? And why are you telling me now?”

“I…” This was quite unpleasant now. Could his face, please, not heat at this very moment? “It’s… I did enjoy those communal aspects of pair skating… Those moments of mutual understanding.”

Claude stared at him. _Oh, no…_ “Oh. Ohohoho. You’ve got a cru-”

“I am missing certain aspects of pairs!” He tensed. Claude was too perceptive for his own good. “Please, let’s try a throw jump.”

Claude smacked his lips, pursed them and stared at him through cat-like eyes. “I… will kindly take you up on this offer, though, don’t think I’m gonna let you off the hook.”

Dimitri played himself.

Whenever they met for competitions or training camps, they tried out elements together. Simple ones, safe ones at first. It was a give and take. Claude enjoyed it, enjoyed learning about what his parents did, cheered when he landed a throw double jump, shook Dimitri’s arm when they did their first twist and Dimitri trained to temper his strength, to control the play between muscles and joints, between power and gentleness.

The fraction of strength he needed to lift Claude, the timing of letting go of his hip when hoisting him into the air.

“I want to skate with him again,” he told Claude one day. He knew already but Dimitri had to voice it anyway.

And Claude looked at him, smiled a certain smile. “You will.”

Dimitri smiled back. Because Claude was right.

Because even if Felix glared, even if he snapped, even if he said, “You’ll skate with him but not with me,” laughing to himself and shaking his head.

One day Dimitri would say, “Let’s skate together.”

He would reach for his hand. “I won’t let you fall.”

Felix would look at him, knit his brows because he wouldn’t believe him, and Dimitri would say:

“I will catch you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next chapter will have Lián's ([@CoffeeLian](https://twitter.com/CoffeeLian)) art dkfcnjsf. It's so beautiful!!! Can't wait for y'all to see it!
> 
> Pair skating is the most dangerous of the four figure skating disciplines. There are so many factors which can go wrong - be it during the lift, twist or throw jump. Here is a little video about the [difficulty of triple twists](https://youtu.be/RyOj6RS18pU). Dimitri's sentiments are based on what my favorite male pair skater Han Cong said in [this documentary about their experience leading up to Worlds 2019](https://youtu.be/TBhdQQDHNcs?t=212). In the end Dimitri is such a compassionate person and seeing your partner fall when you were the person to throw them... *holes up in sadness*
> 
> Next update will be next weekend.


	3. Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy Lián's ([@CoffeeLian](https://twitter.com/CoffeeLian)) amazing art in this chapter!! So happy to finally post this!!  
> Also, thank you to Lauren ([@mahiruhiiragis](https://twitter.com/mahiruhiiragis)) for betaing this chapter and helping with the continuity of the plot <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It is late when Felix and Dimitri reach the camp – they didn’t want their conversation to cease; too many words which went unsaid in the course of the years. The sun has already set but the sky is still dawning, still colored orange at its edges. Felix’s steps quicken when the light of their hostel comes into sight. Chatter rings through the open windows of the dorms; some of their fellow athletes were probably playing games in the living room. Werewolf has always been one of the favorite games at their yearly gatherings.

_Let’s skate together_ , Dimitri has said. Felix’s feet come to a halt.

It’s been four years since the last time they skated together. Four years since they took each other’s hands to step onto the ice.

Felix won’t wait another day.

He grabs Dimitri’s hand who twitches at the sudden contact, turns to him and offers a questioning look.

“F-Felix, I- You-”

“Let’s skate.” A smile curls his lips. Before Dimitri can answer he pulls him along, bolts for the dorms, not bothering to turn on the light. They just need to snatch their boots and rush over to the rink. Nobody needs to know what they are up to so late at night.

As expected, the rink is empty, inviting them to take the stage. It doesn’t take long to switch into their skates, laces pulled tight and neat.

Just a few strides and they glide next to each other, the way they raced as children on uneven ice, easily knocked off by a scrape, a little hunk on the surface. Back then falling was easy. The joy dampened the pain, different from the will which forces him to stay on his feet now.

Over the years, the tumbling turned graceful, carefully drafted choreography ingrained in their bodies. Every movement carries meaning, every glance a story. Intention drives them when they connect elements, automatically falling into the steps they have seen time and time again.

Alisa and Lambert’s skate.

They have seen it countless times, studied it hidden beneath their blankets, dissected it, sitting in a library. They don’t need to exchange words; it’s the easiest program for them to skate, interlacing steps and figures, a rocker and a counter – simple types of steps – gliding next to each other.

The scratch of their blades against the ice is their music, the heavy breathing a wordless message.

They circle each other one moment, skate side by side the next. Dimitri falls behind, catches up, catches him in a turn, a slow spin filled with anticipation, leading Felix into Dimitri’s arms.

Simple is the word which describes what they do. It’s simple yet beautiful. No jumps, no falls, only them.

Light is how Felix feels, light on his feet, like a snowflake in the air. The picture they draw on the ice is disjointed, has flaws and imperfections. Their spins are not in sync; their hearts beat at different paces. But do they need to be the same? Dimitri gave up on pairs because he is afraid of falling and even more of seeing others fall. However, falls are only half of the story because it is clear how Dimitri yearns for it, loves to skate together more than he does skating alone. It is clear from the ease with which he guides Felix through the motions, clear from the intensity of his eyes which follow Felix’s path to find the rhythm they lost. It’s still there, somewhere in the space between them when they look at each other, one hand raised to the ceiling, the other holding each other.

Dimitri smiles at him despite years of pushing. Dimitri is still here, still at his side. He never withdrew but came to him and now he pulls him, moves into a spreadeagle and lifts him onto his feet. Felix stands on Dimitri’s boots, arms slung around his neck; he buries his face in Dimitri’s nape and they glide together over the ice as Dimitri carries him, holding him tighter than he has ever before.

After all the falling, Dimitri tries to keep him safe in this brief moment of reprieve.

“I will catch you,” Dimitri whispers into his ear.

Felix looks up, knitting his brows, holding even tighter onto Dimitri. It’s what they agreed upon; Felix will land Dimitri’s throws and Dimitri will catch Felix when he falls. “You will catch me,” he murmurs into his shoulder, “and I will-”

He’s back on the ice. He’d almost stumble if it wasn’t for Dimitri’s strong hold.

Another tug.

And Felix is up in the air, turning once.

And then again.

He doesn’t even realize that he screams, only hears the piercing sound in his own ears and moments later understands it’s his voice which rises in volume when he descends.

But he is caught by two strong arms, gently placing him down onto the ice.

A mischievous grin greets him when he searches to understand what just happened. What is Dimitri grinning for? They just- Heat rises to his cheeks, thrill catches up to him in an afterthought sending tingles down his spine, a familiar sensation he experienced years ago.

His eyes wander to the ceiling, to where he was seconds ago. How high was he up in the air? His hand grabs onto Dimitri’s arm. It was a double twist. A double twist! Dimitri threw him into a double twist and caught him again. His body hasn’t forgotten. His body still remembers after all those years. They can still do it!

_Again._

His hand tightens on the other’s sleeves, glancing up to him, cheeks still warm and maybe too red. But what does it matter? What does it matter if he can have _this_?

“Do it again.”

The door slams open with a crash.

“What are you doing to my son?!”

Felix immediately lets go of Dimitri’s sleeve, turning around on his blades. His old man is breathing hard, face completely flushed with disheveled hair. He must have run over from the dorms. Such an unnecessary action for what?

Dimitri glides past him, holding up his arms in defense. “I’m sorry if we caused any concern, we-”

“Why was my son screaming?!” His old man rushes over, raising a fist which is as threatening as Zoltan’s paw – which is not at all.

Felix nearly laughs at his father’s pathetic attempt at intimidating Dimitri. His old man is tall, sure, but Dimitri is built so much broader. Even so Dimitri shrinks under his old man’s complaints. Flinches when his old man swings his fucking slipper in the air! His sock freezes onto the damn ice, almost getting pulled off. Just what are they doing?! Felix bites his lip. Bites away the smile creeping onto his face.

“Ba,” he says. The word feels odd in his mouth, foreign after years of disuse, albeit familiar. “Dimitri manhandled me.”

All color drains from Dimitri’s face, gaping at him wide-eyed. His mouth opens and closes as if punched right in the gut, screaming a silent “Betrayal”. Slowly, he reaches out a hand to Felix which his father slaps away.

“You still don’t have enough, young man?” His father grabs Dimitri by the collar.

“I didn’t-!”

Felix laughs. It’s more of a stifled chuckle. It rumbles in his chest, but it shakes him, and he strains his throat to hide a grunt but fails to do so.

“Aahh,” he sighs high and thin, pressing his lips into a whimsical line as he continues to chuckle into himself. He barely notices that Dimitri and his father stopped bickering, instead staring at him until his chest is filled with joy, warm and tingling, until he wipes a single tear from the corner of his eye, glancing up to look into two pairs of fond eyes.

He allows himself to smile and they mirror his gesture.

***

Summer camps with Dimitri around are always better than the ones without him. During the summer camp before his first senior season, however, Dimitri doesn’t join in.

He’s sitting beneath the counter in Seteth’s office as he often does when he gets tired of crowds of people, and when there is no Dimitri to steal away with. The fan blows onto his neck while the radio plays some old-fashioned music which was hip when Seteth was an adolescent. His parents sometimes listen to the same old songs, so they aren’t too bad to listen to, but it does surprise him that Flayn seems to enjoy them just as much.

She’s peeling apples for her tea. Little flakes of red peel flutter to the bowl beneath her hands while slices of the apple find their way to the plate in front of Felix who occasionally snacks on one of them when the book he is reading becomes too boring.

“You’ve been here quite often, haven’t you?” She puts aside her apple and picks one of the slices.

Felix doesn’t look up from his book even if he has been reading the same paragraph over and over for a while now. He’s able to understand every single word but combined in sentences the meaning doesn’t want to get into his head.

“Yeah,” he says. He comes here nearly every other day.

“I’m happy you see us so often.” She beams. “It’s been fairly quiet this year; far less athletes came. Maybe they are tired from the Olympics.”

“Many retired after the last season.” Seteth turns around on his stool. Many athletes work towards the Olympics to then finish up their career. “Catherine called a while ago. She said she and Shamir plan to do a backpacking trip through Dagda. They’ll send postcards.”

Felix frowns. Catherine must have talked Shamir into backpacking. People from Fodlan always like to search for budget adventures on other continents. He shakes his head. That wasn’t the point. Seteth is right that many have retired. Claude mentioned the same about most of his competition at the Games and thus he hopes Ashe, Dedue and Felix will step up for the next ones. Felix flicks through some of the pages before browsing back to the page he was on before. Claude didn’t even come to the camp. Actually, Felix hasn’t heard from him in a while. The camp has been fairly calm but even then, something doesn’t feel quite right.

Flayn has finished her apple slice before she speaks up again. “Oh, I’m quite curious. Do you know how Dimitri and Marianne are doing?”

Well, they didn’t come either. “Marianne is recovering well last I heard.”

“Oh, is that so?” Flayn blinks, tilting her head. She glances to her father who frowns and shakes his head. It’s an odd reaction. They should be glad that Marianne is doing better after her accident at Junior Worlds. But Flayn just clasps her hand together and hums. “That’s good to hear.” She picks up her apple again and resumes peeling.

Felix, too, guides his attention back to his book. It’s still the same paragraph he is stuck on. Maybe if he continues reading this part it will make more sense in the grand context. If everything fails, he still can ask Ashe what the book is supposed to be about.

His hand glides over the yellowed papers of the book. Some pages have dog-ears and, well, Felix can see why. The pages are about how the hero overcomes a gigantic ordeal in their life and if the wavy pages were anything to go by, Ashe cried while reading. Felix nearly cries from suppressing a yawn.

For a while there is only the sound of the ventilator, turned pages and the scratch of Flayn’s knife against the fruit. Occasionally Seteth types something into the computer or greets a guest who checks in or out.

He’s finished roughly thirty pages when Flayn addresses him again. “You should try peeling the apple!” She hands him one.

It’s so out of nowhere that Felix just ignores the apple which she holds up to him. He just reached an actually interesting part in the book! The hero is about to reveal their true identity to their friend which they have kept under cover-

Flayn shoves the knife at him, and he jerks back.

“You should try something new!” she says as if it is perfectly normal to point knives at your friends. “You do so much with your feet. I believe it will be very rewarding to do something with your hands for a change.”

No, it won’t. He pushes her hands away. “I’m at a good part. I’ll try later.”

“Are you sure? You should peel one for yourself so that I can boil some water for all three of us.”

Huh? He stares at the little bits and pieces of apple peel in her bowl. It took her way too long for the two apples she finished. He takes the third one and starts to peel. One flake after another falls off and he frowns. His mother is able to peel it in one long ribbon. He should be able to do the same! He licks his lips, tightens his hair in his bun and tries again.

It proves more difficult than expected, though when it comes to the fifth apple, he manages to peel it in one go.

“I am delighted!” Flayn takes the ribbon and folds it into a rose, placing it into a glass where she throws in some other ingredients and pours boiling water over it. It actually looks quite nice. A bit like a snow globe with the herbs swirling in the hot water.

He glances at his hands.

“Isn’t it lovely? You’re quite skilled with your hands. It’s fascinating how we can adapt to new situations so fast.”

“It is,” he murmurs. Things change so fast. His first senior season is approaching. And with changing environments people change, too.

***

Change. Too much has changed since they switched to seniors. Dimitri and him. But also, Claude, Ashe and Dedue. Felix and his father sit in his office, discussing the final steps into the next season. The summer camp has come to an end; the Olympic season stands before him.

“You landed your quad toe,” his father says, “seven times.” He doesn’t mention that Felix landed them seven out of twenty times.

Felix glances at the family photo on his father’s desk. All his rink mates must have seen this picture where he sits on his father’s shoulder – his mother next to them with her hand on Glenn’s back. They took the picture when they visited his grandparents in Dagda.

“I’ll do what I can.” He nods to himself. Forcing it has proven futile. Recently when Dimitri and he worked on pair skating they approached it step by step. It works out well for them, regaining one element after another - the synchronicity of their side-by-side spins, the rhythm of their step sequences. He will translate the same mindset towards singles.

His father looks at him before he looks out the window. The sun is already setting, and the dim light carves shadows on his face. The wrinkles at the side of his eyes and mouth make him appear older than he is, more tired than he should be.

“Years ago,” his father says, “I was you.” He pulls his lips back into a smile, but his eyes don’t change. “It’s another Olympic season.”

“It’s another Olympic season,” Felix echoes.

The season starts. Felix calms. His competitions will come soon enough – Skate Leicester and Cup of Khingai as his qualifier events for the Grand Prix Final and then the Nationals. There is no point in fretting, no point in overworking. He tells his father so. Ashe brightens when he suggests running together. When the media visits them on their open day, he even manages a smile, keeps his voice calm and collected and the reporters start, keep silent for seconds before they shoot their questions.

Things are better. He sleeps well; he eats well; he feels good in his skin. When Dimitri approaches him, he remains calm. Because finally Dimitri isn’t skating alone anymore. They go to the rink and skate, practicing his parents’ program, reclaim the elements they have lost over time. It is nice to work on these things which will never be judged – neither by judges nor by the media.

It is nice to see Dimitri’s smile.

He does so when Felix agrees to go out for dinner. When they sit in a diner eating fish burgers. When they talk about how they want to skate together again, about Dimitri’s hold on his wrist when he pulls him into a death spiral, on the placement of his hands when he pushes him into a lift. He smiles when the strangeness between them starts to melt.

It’s nice to see Dimitri laugh.

When he first huffs, scoffs, and then bursts into laughter, bright and rumbling that it shakes Felix, too; always has. They sit in Ashe and Dedue’s flat – food splayed around them. Annette’s sketches of their costumes fly everywhere and fall into his bowl while she rakes fingers through her hair and covers her face. She’s embarrassed about her own clumsiness but it’s so endearing to see that everyone smiles and laughs _with_ her when she finally laughs, too.

It’s even nice to see Dimitri upset.

“Is this some kind of joke?!” He points at the TV as they watch the transmission of Skate Adrestia. Dedue’s score just blended in – lower than they have guessed after his clean free skate. “Where are his points? This is robbery in broad daylight! Such insolence!” He groans. “Good thing he won anyway.”

His mother shrugs next to him. “The judges work hard, but Dedue works harder.”

Sports easily succumb to bias. A sport so old and established as figure skating has its own prejudices – ideas about how a skater is supposed to skate, about how they are supposed to look, which clothes to wear and what music to skate to. It’s great that Dedue decided to choose a Duscurian piece for his free. Felix has never skated to a Dagdan composition for a competitive program, only for his exhibition.

Felix huffs as he turns to Dimitri. “Before you complain about the scoring, skate so you deserve your own scores.”

Dimitri pulls his lips into an abashed smile. He’s a World medalist now and it isn’t easy to live up to such high standards.

Though, when Skate Leicester comes, Dimitri delivers.

Felix stands at the boards with his father, watching his every movement on the ice. And as he watches him, seeing the dazzling smile on his face, hearing the rich applause which the audience rewards him with, feeling _something_ twisting in his chest, he doesn’t mind his own placement at the event at all.

***

Felix’s very first international competition was in Dagda when he was eleven. He can’t remember much of it. Remembers his shaking legs and missed jumps, the dryness of his mouth and the crowd which was too loud despite filling less than half the stands. His skate was more of a hiccup than one stringent flow. He knows that Dimitri’s first outing was a lot better. He and Marianne finished in the top five while Felix… well, he finished low.

He pouts when he sits in his grandparents’ home, feet dangling over the ground as the chair is too high. He wanted to place higher than Dimitri. What is he supposed to tell him when they call again?

A bun appears in his vision.

“Look, Fe.” His grandpa waves the bun around. “You look just like this bun.”

Felix stares at it. At the round and puffy steamed bun slightly denting in his grandpa’s hold; the dough which is colored like yellowed milk. White clouds rise from the skin which Felix knows to be warm.

His eyes sting. “I don’t!”

Though, his grandpa laughs and gestures to his father who is peeling carrots with grandma. “Your ba was much like you. He cried before his first competition.” He gets on his knees. “Did you cry, Fe?”

“I didn’t.” He darts away. He just sniveled a little bit but blowing his nose once was enough to bury the tension in his chest – at least till after his skate.

“I’m surprised!” He pats his head with his big and warm hand – the one which wasn’t touching the bun before. “Did you enjoy skating?”

Felix pouts again. Everyone always tells him to have fun, but losing isn’t fun! “I didn’t,” he says petulantly.

A soft laugh rumbles through his grandpa’s chest again. “Of course. See.” He places the bun into Felix’s little hands. “When your ba started to fold buns, he was as skilled as a donkey.”

Felix stares at his grandpa, tilting his head.

“… Which means he did a bad job…” He throws disappointed glances at his son’s back and turns back to Felix. “There were as many holes in his buns as in his socks, but the point is: With time we all improve. And the process of learning” – he pauses for a moment to point at the bun, to cup Felix’s hands holding the bun – “is rewarding in itself.”

***

Dimitri excelled at Skate Leicester. Felix did not. Only two more months till the Olympic Games; considering his abysmal placement at Worlds, placing 6th isn’t, too, bad. When Felix arrives a week before Cup of Khingai, Glenn doesn’t intend to let him see his grandparents, dropping his luggage at the doorstep and immediately pulling him back to the streets.

“We need to talk, mister.”

Felix stomach twists at these words. The flight was exhausting and even if the time zones are only three hours apart, drowsiness clouds his mind. What he needs right now is to take a shower and rest. “Glenn, I just arrived. We can talk later.”

His brother shakes his head, pulling him further along, relentless in his unyielding grip, away from their grandparents’ home. Glenn’s brows are scrunched, and the corners of his lips turn distinctively downwards – something he only does when he is upset. He ducks his head into his coat to stop the cold from entering through his collar while his steps stomp into the snow with a grating crunch. His shoulders are almost pulled up to his ears – from tension? From the biting cold?

Felix darts around. He visits his grandparents once a year if he’s lucky. Things always change. Old shops selling vegetables and meat have closed; new ones selling frills and furbelows have opened. Many people seek shelter from the cutting winds in these shops. Glenn opens the door of a café and drags Felix in. “Sit here.” He gestures at a free spot and goes to the counter to order. When he comes back, he places two cups of milk tea on their table. He shoves one of the cups towards Felix before he throws himself onto the chair.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Felix frowns. Stares at the cup in front of him; the steam rises up in ribbons; the heat warms his hands.

“I do,” he mutters. This _is_ stupid. To drag him here after hours of being on a plane; he should be at home, talking to his grandmother or something like that.

Though, Glenn’s hand balls into a fist. Felix continues to stare at the cup as the heat stings his palms. He raises it to his lips, allowing for the tea to burn down his throat, numbing his tongue.

“Fe, I saw what you did at Skate Leicester.” He runs a hand through his hair, freeing his eyes from his bangs to glare at him. “What you delivered in Derdriu was a joke.”

Felix tightens his grip around the cup despite the heat. A joke. He huffs.

He glances at the man at the next table. He has looked up from his book and stares back at them. Of course. It must look funny that they are speaking Fodlanian, especially with how harsh Glenn speaks. Words pressed out in loud and angry noises…

“Felix.” Glenn lays his hand on his, guiding it away from the cup, interlacing their fingers. It almost hurts more to let go of the heat than holding onto it. “Look at me.”

Felix doesn’t look up. He can’t.

“Felix.” Glenn squeezes his hand again.

A moment passes, and another one. Felix lets his gaze wander up, past Glenn’s cup of tea. He is still wearing his coat; his scarf thrown over the armrest, about to fall off. The corners of his mouth droop low, and when he reaches his eyes, Felix’s chest constricts.

“Do you…” – Glenn pauses for a moment, face crumpling – “feel better?”

Felix shrugs. Even if he knows this is not the right thing to do at this moment. But what does better even mean? A year ago, he won both his GP qualifiers. Now he won’t make the Final. Was everything better a year ago? Simply because he won medals? No. Now he smiles with Dimitri. They can sit together at the dinner table without anger rising in his chest. It’s _nice_ for once in four years that Dimitri moved to Colan and trains at his rink. He wasn’t able to appreciate any time in the past four years more than the past moon. And it’s not only Dimitri. He can support Ashe with his stamina and discuss strategies with Dedue. Sometimes he even brings himself to call Claude, not as a rival but as someone who enjoys the same sport as him.

Winning doesn’t matter. Like for the man sitting next to them, regaining his interest in his book. He might not even know that a GP qualifier is taking place in his town this weekend.

“Fe, talk to me.” His voice is pleading – not the way an older brother is supposed to talk to their younger one.

Felix stares at the steam rising from his cup. “What am I supposed to say?”

“You don’t feel better, do you?”

He shrugs again.

“Felix!”

For fucks sake. “I’m fine enough.”

“You’re not.”

“If you know better then why do you ask?”

Glenn looks at him. His lips still point downwards, a frown on his face. Though, he doesn’t look upset anymore – he looks sad.

It’s sickening to see him like this. Sickening because Felix is the reason he looks like this. His stomach grows heavier.

“You never understood the people around you, Fe.” He lets go of his hands. “We want you to be happy.” A rueful smile. “Not for you to give up.”

“I haven’t.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t given up. I-” He bites his lip.

“Is that so?” Glenn frowns, smiles a wry smile, disbelief written on his face. “You didn’t give up on making the Olympic team?”

The team- “There…” His mouth dries. Heat rises to his face. “Dimitri and Ashe will go. They deserv-”

“Go home, Fe.”

Felix halts. His heart thrums in his ears. He stares at the steam rising from his cup, dimmer than before. It fades the higher it rises. Is this what it is like to give up? To reach a limit and then fade?

“Or win this.”

“I can’t,” he shoots. His gaze snaps to his brother. “I can’t win.”

“You can.” Glenn takes his hands again. “You just need to figure out what winning means.”

Felix doesn’t know what winning means. They walk home and find their place at the dinner table. His grandpa made buns for them and he bites into one. The juicy broth trickles down at the side, glides over his hand. It’s messy the way he eats it. His father places a hand on his shoulder, tells him something about how he learnt to wrap these as a child. How his father taught him and how he eagerly improved his folding technique. How he enjoyed it.

He wants to enjoy it, too, he thinks. The bun fills him with warmth as he eats it. The skin sticks to his fingers; steam curls from the hole he bit into it, carrying the savory smell.

He never learnt how to fold them himself.

Maybe he should.

The next competitions feel like a haze, one after another fading by, blending together. He remembers Dimitri’s exasperated voice during the call after Cup of Khingai, congratulating him with so much warmth that Felix hid his face in his hands while his grandpa eyed him suspiciously. He remembers Claude’s hand on his shoulder at the Grand Prix Final before he pulled him into a hug, patting his back – the first time it felt genuine in four years. He stiffened first, tightened his arms around him then.

Nationals were a fever dream. He remembers the tension in Ashe’s shoulders. Remembers how he saw Dedue squeezing his arm before Ashe stalked off to the rink. He remembers Dimitri’s face, clear of any worry, entirely relaxed which allowed his free skate to appear even more angelic than it already was.

He remembers Glenn calling him after the competition. His voice was gentler than back in the café. “I’m glad you didn’t give up,” he said. “You’re on the right path.”

There are so many paths to tread.

***

Relationships are tedious to maintain. One wrong action – even the tiniest word – can ruin everything, even more so four constant years of pushing someone away who used to be your best friend.

Felix is quite sure he is successful in cutting Dimitri off during his first year in Colan. He makes sure to have left the house by the time Dimitri stands up, to eat lunch by himself or when he has to with Ashe, and during dinner, he is content to not speak a word while Dimitri and his parents engage in meaningless conversation about their days, about random news they heard like a new shop opening in the city center or the little girl down the street starting to go to school. Dimitri doesn’t smile much during that time. Felix doesn’t either.

During his second year, Dimitri changes. Felix can’t pinpoint what exactly, neither what triggered it. He doesn’t back off anymore when Felix pushes him away. Sometimes he insists on his ‘right’ to spend time with him; sometimes he brings his favorite meal to his room, sits down and stays till they both finish no matter how much the conversation drags like molasses; sometimes… sometimes Dimitri looks at him with an expression Felix cannot read.

The feeling that despite everything – despite him breaking their promise and Felix pushing him away – Dimitri still _cares_ is eerie. Because there is nothing to care about anymore.

One more thing changes: Dimitri improves. Gradually, step by step, his placement at competitions rises. 28th at one, 21st at the next.

And Felix’s stomach twists when he sees Dimitri skate like this. With his brows knitted, lips parted, in yearning. His arms extend to a phantom skater who isn’t there. Dimitri is no single skater, no matter how much he improves, no matter which heights he reaches.

Dimitri doesn’t belong here.

He looks lonely on the ice.

And when Felix asks him, “Why are you doing this to yourself?”, and when Dimitri replies, “I am doing this for you.” Felix doesn’t understand.

***

Nearly one year ago Felix told Ashe it’ll only be them, only Ashe and Felix who will go to the Olympics.

Back then he believed this; it will be the two of them who will go. At that time, he also believed he would stand on the podium at Worlds, believed Dimitri would finish below Ashe. He believed Dimitri would never reach him, would never go with him to the Games because he gave up on his potential and he has no means to reach for a place where he doesn’t belong.

However, Dimitri took the ice at Worlds. He skated with the music, through allegro and piano. The landing of his jump echoed through the stadium. His movements filled the whole rink, sending the audience to their feet. Felix, too, clapped at the end. Because how could he not?

Now the Faerghun Federation has chosen. Ashe and Felix will represent Faerghus at the Winter Olympics in Almyra on account of their achievements during the Grand Prix season and the National Championships.

The result leaves him hollow. Empty because in the end it is him who squandered their chance to go together. It’s almost funny, isn’t it? How in the end it isn’t Dimitri who lost their chance but him.

He wraps his arms around himself to keep himself warm. It is chilly in the hallway, creating goosebumps on his arms despite the thick woolen pullover he is wearing. He stares at Dimitri’s feet as he stands in the door frame of Glenn’s old room – Dimitri’s room.

Both don’t move for a while. Don’t exchange a single word while the clock in Dimitri’s room ticks and Zoltan tiptoes in Felix’s. His parents are downstairs in the living room, probably watching the series they always watch on Wednesdays, but the doors are shut and he only faintly hears the noise of muffled conversations. Occasionally, his mother’s laugh sounds up the stairs through the hallway.

He shifts in his stance to straighten his back but the floor creaks, grating to his ears, and he slouches his back again. His hands dangle uselessly at his side, so he hides them behind his back, clasping them together. They feel cold and clammy. Uncomfortably so, but he knows wiping them on his pants won’t help. Nothing helps.

He has brought this on himself.

“I ruined it, didn’t I?” He brings a hand to his birthmark, squeezes at his throat. He can’t bring himself to look up. “We could have skated together, couldn’t we?”

The words are heavy. Each one sitting in his chest like each second he loathed Dimitri. He tries to take deeper breaths, but the air feels thick, difficult to breathe.

Dimitri shifts. No words come over his lips.

He doesn’t have to speak; Felix has to make amends first. Has to better the past years because Dimitri has already done too much. He bites his lips and finally looks up, searching for Dimitri’s eyes.

“You belong here.”

Dimitri’s brows are knitted in concern. He’s always concerned about Felix when he should take care of himself. He gave up on something he loved because he was afraid of seeing others fall. Felix's chest tightens. He didn’t want to see Felix fall but Felix falls all the same.

“Felix, are…” Dimitri licks over his lip, bites his lips before he speaks again. “Aren’t we skating together?” Their eyes connect. “I know that I belong. That is why I chose to move here.” He takes a step towards Felix, out of his room, bridging the gap between them, though Felix takes another step back. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Felix rips his gaze away. “I did.”

“If this is about the Olympics, I don’t care.” He scratches the floor with his foot. “Felix, I believe I never told you why I moved to Colan.”

Felix frowns, looks anywhere but at Dimitr; confusion settles in. “You did. You gave- You didn’t want to see anyone get hurt anymore.”

“That is the reason I quit pairs; that is true.” He pauses. “But I moved because of you.”

Felix’s head snaps upwards; so fast his breath can’t follow. He inhales sharply as he stares at Dimitri who just gives him this goofy smile of his which is completely out of place considering the situation they are in. Felix is trying his best to apologize and-

“I love you.”

“You -!” He bites off the ‘fool’. He’s really _trying_ to make things better. Dimitri shouldn’t bear his feelings so easily and just trust him when Felix has hurt him for so long. “That’s not how this works. You should be upset! You can’t-” He gasps. “Was this a confession?”

Dimitri nods.

Felix takes a few more steps back and braces himself against the wall.

_Dimitri confessed._

“Please…” Dimitri approaches him again, steps careful and slow – as if it isn’t Felix he is approaching but Zoltan. He lifts his hand, waits for a moment before he cups Felix’s cheek – as warm as back then… on the meadow. Felix turns his face away and Dimitri lets go. “I am happy for you that you can go to the Olympics. I will root for you and cheer for you. And…” He takes a step back, giving Felix space. “You skating there will be as if I skate there, too. Your free skate mu- We will skate together.”

They will skate together. It sounds too good to be true. But isn’t Dimitri right? Don’t they skate together hand in hand? Isn’t this enough?

Enough to be happy.

“Ma. Ba.” Felix bites his bottom lip, nibbles at it. His hand rakes through his hair. Presses against his cheek when he feels heat creeping into them. A bit disgusting, a bit snugly at the same time. After his parents found them standing in the hallway, they are now all sitting in the living room: Dimitri, his parents and him.

“Dimitri said he likes me.”

“I love you,” Dimitri corrects.

“Yes, yeah, he l-loves me.” Felix digs his fingertips into his knees. “I like him, too.”

His mom snorts. _Snorts._

Out of all the things she could do, she snorts! Felix’s face is on fire at this point. “I’ll never tell you anything again!”

***

During the summer camp when Felix is 15 something happened that he can’t quite pin down. Felix sits in Seteth’s office, scrolling through search results about fireflies. His face feels warm despite the fan blowing into his face, still feeling the ghost of Dimitri’s hand cupping his cheek. He occasionally presses the cool glass of water against his skin, but it barely helps to stifle the heat. Dimitri’s touch was so gentle despite the strength he possesses. Almost caressing…

It was nice.

But it was just because of a firefly.

“What,” – he hopes his voice sounds casual when he turns towards Seteth – “do you know about the fireflies here?” He purses his lips.

“The fireflies?” Seteth leans back from his seat, shutting off his screen. “Well, I did inform myself a little bit about the fauna and flora in this area. Though, I only know very generic things… During the night walks we offer we also go to a nearby meadow. Many fireflies glow there once it’s dark.” He cups his chin with his fingers, frowning in concentration. “Their lives are short – not more than a year. And they only glow half an hour at a time.” His smile turns wry. “Short, isn’t it? I always believed they glow longer.”

Felix nods. He believed so, too. It is almost sad that their time to shine is so limited. He stares at the screen of his phone again, unsure what to say.

“But they don’t only glow once.” Seteth perks up. “They glow again and again. Even if their light is fleeting; it isn’t just for one time. They shine again and bless us with their light once more.” He slides off his stool and crouches down, so he is eye level with Felix. “Our next night walk is on Thursday. You’re welcome to join.” He flops into a cross-legged sit. “Dimitri asked to join, too. We will hike through the mountains, listen to owls, smell the fragrance of night-blooming flowers and see the lights of surrounding villages and towns, the reflection of the moon in the infinity pool and we will see the fireflies. I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

That’s a lot of things they’ll see. Felix’s glance wanders back to the black screen of his phone. And Dimitri will be there, too. “I suppose I can join.”

It can’t hurt. He shifts in his seat. Just to see the glow of the fireflies once more; just to see their fleeting light.

It will be nice.

***

Four years have passed since their call – when Ashe, Dedue and Felix sat in front of the screen on one continent and Claude on the other, alone. Four years since they promised to come here together.

And they made it. Felix doesn’t know how, but they all made it.

Now they sit here on the rooftop of one of the adobe buildings in the capital of Almyra, the night before their free skate, savoring the last minutes of their Olympic stories. It almost feels unreal – like a dream which nobody wants to wake up from. Neither Dedue and Ashe who lean against each other, eyes heavy from the rich meal they just had, discussing which of the dishes they had so far, they hope to recreate in Colan, nor Claude who couldn’t stop smiling ever since they sauntered through the streets of his hometown, showing them his old school, his university, his local mosque and his rink.

People scurry through the streets; the chilly breeze carries their chatter up to their seat in the restaurant they had their dinner in. The four of them are enveloped in the provided blankets, snuggling into the warmth reminiscing the past four years.

“We made it.” Claude’s eyes glisten in the warm light, reflecting the life of the city. “Let’s enjoy this.” His expression is warm, soft, as if all the pressure is falling off his shoulders.

They are here to enjoy this – the fleeting moment in the light.

They are here to shine.

Felix’s hands grip onto his tissue box as he closes his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths of air. He skated since he was five and in just a few minutes all of this will finally end. For four and a half minutes all eyes will be on him, every wave of his arm, every expression on his face. In those few minutes his story will be written onto the ice and he alone is the writer. No one else can decide the end of this story. And this one… It has to have a happy ending.

A hand grabs onto his, squeezing gently. When he opens his eyes, his father looks at him, brows drawn together, determination in his gaze. Felix’s lips quiver at the sight. Was this the resolve he had when he stepped into the Olympic arena all those years back? The resolve to win Gold?

His father brings a hand to the back of his head, bringing their foreheads together. Felix’s eyes widen and he momentarily forgets to breathe, blinking at his father who has closed his eyes, who has never done such a thing before.

Cameras shutter in the background.

“You have always been someone who looked into the future. The past never deterred you on your way,” his father says, “but know that I am endlessly proud of the first step you took on the ice, the first fall you took with a cry. The fact that you stand here is no coincidence. It is what you earned with your hard work and yours alone.” He looks him into the eye. “Your mother and I, we love you. No matter what happens in the next few minutes. Go.”

His father lets go of him. For a moment he just stands there, at a loss of words, taken aback by his father’s confession. Something hot prickles in the corner of his eyes but before it can break through, he takes a deep breath.

Only four and a half minutes in the face of all he has accomplished.

He looks at his father one last time, nods firm and sure. “I’ll go.”

The moment Felix steps onto the ice, he knows he has already won; his brother will see his answer now.

The cheers drown the announcement of his name, drown the hammering of his heartbeat, but it does not drown his mother’s glee. It can neither drown Seteth’s words echoing in his mind, nor the support his friends have given him.

It could never drown Dimitri, standing in the audience, waving his hand, shouting his name.

Felix's heart calms, taking in one last glance before he dips down into his starting pose, waiting for the first chord of the music to strike.

He has already won.

They all did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! Now, please, scroll up again and appreciate Lián's art once more <3
> 
> Check their art out here: [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/i/IM4M73KLJB), [Tumblr](https://coffeelian.tumblr.com/post/642462603884527616), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CoffeeLian/status/1358388600216420352?s=20).


	4. Grounding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the epilogue of this figure skating story :)
> 
> Thank you so much to Lauren ([@mahiruhiiragis](https://twitter.com/mahiruhiiragis)). You have betad all my chapters; it was such a big help!!! <33
> 
> And also Lián's ([@CoffeeLian](https://twitter.com/CoffeeLian)) second art piece. It's so pristine; look at it, people!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dimitri was five when he and Felix set out to become pair skaters. After watching his parents’ Olympic skate, it was clear. They wanted to skate exactly the same way: together, side by side, complementing each other as if they were one.

Felix often jumped around, making plans on what they will do, what they will look like together, even drawing sketches of the two of them which years later were unrecognizable. Though, at that time it didn’t matter. They would skate together! And win Olympic medals on the way.

Felix was so happy about their plan that he ran to Uncle Rodrigue one evening to let him in on their plan to become pair skaters.

“Ba, Dimitri and I want to pair skate together!” Felix reached up, so his father could hold him and lift him to his lap. Uncle Rodrigue did so but not without swinging him around eliciting laughter out of his son. His face lit up and Dimitri could feel his face mirroring his smile.

When Felix finally sat on Rodrigue’s lap, he looked up with expectant eyes, hands balled into tiny fists, awaiting his father’s excitement at their idea.

Instead of an approving glint, Rodrigue simply laughed, deep and full. “You can’t, Fe. You’re both boys.”

Huh? Dimitri scooted closer. They can’t?

Felix leaned back in his seat on his father’s lap. “Is this a problem?”

“No…” Rodrigue managed a wry smile but couldn’t quite look his son in the eye. Well, in hindsight it wasn’t easy for him to explain five-year-olds why sports were so rigid about gender. “I mean you can still skate together… Maybe not pair- Please, don’t throw Dimitri and by the Goddess” – he turns to Dimitri – “don’t throw my son if that is what you two plan.” At this point his smile vanished. “You can, of course, skate together. Just skate. Next to each other.” He glanced between Felix and Dimitri; a frown carved deep into his skin. “With safe distance.”

***

Many years later Rodrigue’s face still carries the same lines and wrinkles, carving his forehead, the side of his eyes and mouth. His face is pale when Dimitri and Felix step onto Olympic ice.

Together.

“Are you sure you want to throw my son?” Rodrigue’s voice has a certain hoarseness to it. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did you two think this through?” He turns to Felix. “Your mom will kill me if anything happens to you.”

“So what?” Felix shrugs with a smirk on his face.

A chuckle rises in Dimitri’s chest. Felix is clearly teasing his father but even so Rodrigue rakes fingers through his hair, face pinched into a grimace.

The moderator announces the next skater, and Felix reaches for his hand.

The lights turn down; spotlights set in, lighting up their position on the ice. Rodrigue tries to remind them one last time to be mindful before Felix pulls Dimitri along to the center of the ice.

Their path to the center is accompanied by soft murmurs from the stands. It’s eerily silent despite the gala exhibitions being a celebration of the participating skaters.

Heat grows in Dimitri’s cheeks. Well, he wasn’t a participant. The audience doesn’t know why he is here, why Felix is holding his hand, pulling him along. Their blades draw a quiet line on the ice. With every step the scratch becomes louder and the murmurs more insistent.

Felix squeezes his hand. It is warm; reassuring him that he is right to be here – that he belongs here.

That he belongs by Felix’s side.

They take in their start position, back-to-back with their arms reached out.

First cheers start to burst from the crowd and when the music sets in, the cheer of the audience grows into a tide.

It must be the recognition. Of one of the most memorial programs in history brought back to the ice. It must be the memory of two athletes trying and failing and trying again to finally win. It must be-

No.

“They want to see you,” Felix told him. He searched for words. “You were never supposed to skate alone.”

He is right. Dimitri was never supposed to skate alone.

They fly next to each other, pick up speed and slow down, dance in ever-evolving circles and reach for each other’s hand when it is time to halt, to take in the moment because this is their moment. A moment to remember, and they pause to ingrain it into their memories; the pants of their breath, the coldness beneath their feet, the warmth of each other’s hands, the chants of the audience and the faces of all the people they love. This moment is framed by the music which compelled them to pick up their boots every single day.

Felix squeezes his hand.

And Dimitri squeezes back.

Long strides guide their way. Step after step they travel across the ice. This sport has given and taken from them. They’re floating now; so naturally do their jumps come, side-by-side, landed as if one. As if he has done it a myriad of times, Felix swings into the lift next, allowing Dimitri to carry him across the distance. It has always been this power – this power over one’s partner – which Dimitri hated. If he caves in, Felix will fall – he’d crash. But Dimitri won’t allow this. Dimitri will catch him, and Felix will land, and when he looks up, Felix smiles above him so bright it almost hurts because when was the last time he smiled like this?

He has always trusted him.

And Dimitri trusts him, too.

When Felix flies, time seems to stop. Dimitri’s arms still hang in the air from the throw. The audience holds its breath; everything is silent-

The music erupts, and Felix lands. He lands! With his arms flying to the air, he cries, and the people rise; they scream! Their cheers and the music grow into one wave, crashing over them.

They emerge, hand in hand, marching forward, never halting. They ride the jubilation. Felix baths in exhilaration. The cries and the claps overflow in this stadium, overflow in their hearts, and the music carries on, still so grand, thrumming in his heart. His vision blurs. This is all they ever wanted.

Felix’s hand touches his face; cool and soothing fingers smooth away hot tears.

They’re slowly rebuilding it again.

Their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who followed us on this journey ;;
> 
> Lián's ([@CoffeeLian](https://twitter.com/CoffeeLian)) art piece and the title of this fic are partly inspired by [Duhamel and Radford's Worlds 2016 Free Skate to Hometown](https://youtu.be/gY0t3vfx_iA) (lol)  
> Their are also takes great inspo from Radford and his partner, the ice dancer Luis Fenero.
> 
> Sui and Han's skates are also big inspirations for their pair skating. They have so much [emotionality and talent](https://youtu.be/l41yO3nEA8k). I could cry all day about them ;; Their final skate is supposed to be a mixture of the energy and feeling of victory Hometown has and the connectivity and pure emotion Run by Sui/Han conveys. The clean version was unfortunately taken down on YT. You can see their [Olympic gala version](https://youtu.be/FngQ4JLN6YE?t=3488), though.
> 
> There are a lot of references to all kinds of different skaters in this story... I wonder who can find them, hehe.
> 
> Otherwise, this concludes this story ;; Let me know what you think!


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